KALÁTAS

Longing for liberation. Longing for conception. Longing for existence. This is our kalátas.

[fromnefelibata]

REAP WHAT THE SHADOWS SOW

An Unconventional Poem by Princess Ericka Serrano

This land has no hope for tomorrow So no one can tell our children that We fought until every vein had popped out We know that Our dreams are meaningless and shallow So, do not force us to believe that Someday, we will witness every sunrise and every sunset And we dare to say — We will be the sun watching over the land of the morning We won't be there, and we know that The blood we shed will be put in vain A refusal to trust that The lives the shadows stole will be redeemed; For there is Nothing in store Do not believe that there will be A just and a belonging society One that is accepting — That we will bloom a loving future It is true We failed to grow with grief and hope So they can't tell us that For we already know We are not watered by the tears of the land They can't say that We are not dust that will soon vanish in despair They think it's a lie — They didn't know we were seeds They tried to bury us (Now read each line again from bottom to top)

[fromnefelibata]

MAY WE REST IN PEACE

A Conventional by Princess Ericka Serrano

That night, I went home with soil all over

And my sweat was dripping from my forehead

If you saw something else, please don’t shiver

It's alright. Do not be scared. She's just… dead.

Shh... the waves of memories came flashing

Was it the shovel or her muffled cries?

Oh, she was a fool to keep on trusting

The ghosts who haunt her while she drowned in lies.

I hear her laughter echo in my mind

Buried six feet under, she is long gone

Don't tell me without her, I'm undefined

I just know too well how it all began.

That night, I went home as… as someone new

My blood still reeks, but it's long overdue.

[fromnefelibata]

ROSES AND MEMORIES

A Flash Fiction by Roychelle Trish Azaña

The saturation of the leaves is starting to lean more into yellows and reds. Sera is also starting to feel the cold while walking towards the beautiful tulips her father is growing. She likes them more than the roses. Roses are passionate, waiting for a lover to pick them, then bears the obligation to deliver the message of love to his maiden. Sera doesn’t like them, she values peace more than the chaos of love. She likes tulips more for they are sweet, pure, not meant to hurt someone as roses do.

She pulls her jacket closer to herself as she walks further to the deep end of the garden. The weather truly has changed. After banning the use of most carbon-based products and services during the Age of the Second Enlightenment, the change in the atmosphere has been drastic. They can now see snow again after a long time of just drizzles of frost. Sera hasn’t been born in that era or even within the Great Drought, which came after, where millions of people around the world died. She was born in the period of anarchism, a period of abolished governments.

Sera stops walking as the leaves crackle mischievously, offering a premonition to the upcoming conflict. She shivers as she hears cries along the fences which she hasn’t noticed are now closer to her.

She sees a woman over the fence holding her abdomen as if protecting it. As she walks closer to the fence, Sera notices blood staining the woman’s clothes.

‘Help me,’   the woman mouths. In an instant, Sera realizes that the woman is pregnant.

But before they both can move, Sera catches sight of a hooded man behind the woman holding an axe. He looks at the woman menacingly and with an evil smile walks towards her.

His every step brings Sera to hold her breath. No words leave her mouth as she stares. The man steps closer and closer, lust for blood and death evident with his eyes. He is a few steps closer from the woman as he raises his axe.

‘No,’   Sera mumbles, almost swallowing her words. She’s ready to run towards the fence when a tight grip envelopes her.

They – she and the unknown fellow – both drop to the ground as he pulls her down. The woman is lost in sight due to the towering leaves. She didn’t see it, but the plopping sound makes it clear what happened.

Tears suddenly irks to fall while her heart bleeds for the ache of knowing what happened behind those leaves. It seems that breathing is even harder.

‘Shush, we’re both going to die if you don’t shut,’   a baritone voice whispers as she starts to thrash over the force. She fears not for her life but for her father tending the wheat not far from the flower garden.

‘I said shut it,’  the man whispers again, starting to get annoyed.

Sera continues to fight over the man and does not listen. They both fight for control until a distant boom echoes through their surroundings. A period of silence envelops them. Another one shakes the ground making them look at each other.

For the first time, Sera looks at the young man, probably a few years younger than her. They both mirror a calculating face, both trying to scrutinize the other.

Another one makes the ground below their feet grumble. This one is obviously closer than the previous ones.

‘Run!’   Both of them stand and look at the burning sight of the skyscrapers at the distant center. The young man holds her hand and starts to run. Not looking back, they run. Not noticing the cuts the leaves are leaving on their skin, they run. Not letting the terrain slow their speed, they run. At the edge of the fence, even with the sight of the beheaded woman, they run.

The border in sight raises Sera’s anxiety. She looks back trying not to shed tears for the flames engulfing the flower garden. She knows her father is there somewhere.

A tugging force takes her sight off the garden to a piercing stare. Tears start to fall uncontrollably into her face until a thumb wipes them off. They are rough but comforting.

‘He is safe,’   he said.

Like a child, Sera asks, ‘Really?’

‘Yes, and so you must be, too.’  He then pulls out a rose in his pocket and gives it to her. Now, the roses do not make her remember her dislike of love but just of the memory of the now burning flower garden.

***

The interior of the ruins is interesting and induces curiosity. Sera’s legs tingle with pain from their journey to hide. She is tired but did not say anything about it to Samuel, the young man, while they walked. The forest was a rigorous task to overcome but as the way paved to the city, more traps and gangs made it harder for them to continue.

‘Where are we?’   Samuel looks at her with the same tired face. ‘I mean, I suppose you know.’

‘We’re at the palace.’   Awe and shock replace the tiredness in Sera’s face. The remains of the palace are intriguing but knowing the history kept in it stipulates greater interest for her.

‘So, meetings were held here before, you think?’   She looks at the gloomy interior tracing everything she sees with her sight.

‘Not just meetings, also corruption,’  Samuel says. One can almost taste the bitterness in his tone. Sera looks at him and with a slight chuckle says ‘Yeah? Not better than now that everyone could be corrupt?’

‘Better than letting one dictate over the rights of another.’   He takes a seat after brushing some dust off his chosen part of the floor. Sera follows the act and sits in front of him but still keeps her distance.

‘You know, my father always tells stories about the past. Absolute order is never just and can’t be achieved. It’s like we are made to oppose just about everything. I know there are mistakes done in the past and I acknowledge them. But as much as I disdain those… I am not apolitical,’   She explains, trying to start a conversation.

‘Well, I am,’   he says with a smirk.

They both look at each other and laugh, for they both embody the order which can never be achieved. Their conversation goes on with the night as it tries to cradle them to sleep. But both their ideas wake the fireflies hiding behind the vines of the wreckage. Sera dozes off while fidgeting the rose in her pocket thinking of how an hour or so of conversation could match the years she had with her friends. How beautiful can one be free with strangers?

***

Sera wakes up as she hears footsteps to see Samuel does the same. She thinks there are more than ten individuals walking towards them. The early morning conceives calmness but not for Sera and Samuel. Without warning or any conversation, just an understanding of the situation, they both run behind the vines and towards the unknown. They instantly hear footsteps behind them.

As they run, a cliff blocks their path. Desperately halting, Sera looks at Samuel. Worry breaks into her as she notices the monstrous waves below.

‘Whenever you’re ready.’

In the distance, the sun is just rising highlighting the beauty of the scene. ‘When will I ever see this beauty again?’

So, they both jump, not knowing what could happen. At this moment, Sera realizes that there’s nothing that makes sense, that nothing is still in store for her future so she would, she would redefine her future. When she hit the water, she wakes up.

***

She wakes up to the dim façade of the room hiding the already bright morning. She remembers Samuel and the dream, their first meeting. They both jumped that day, both making the same decision. But that’s it, they fell apart after disagreeing with the concept of freedom.

She picks his picture at the table beside her bed. Tracing her fingers with her smile and his, she sighs.

‘Where are you?’

Of course, she wants to find him, but all the other people do, too. Afterall, he is labeled as one of the most infamous criminals of the time, a terrorist. She really wants to find him but not because the government would benefit from it but because she wants to see her friend again. Even if she should not because she leads the country trying to execute him today and lives in the same building where they first shared a conversation.

She opens her journal. There lies a rose petal, passionate yet hurtful.

END

[fromnefelibata]

X

A Flash Fiction by Leah Erika Catacutan

The citizens of Emerald City were horrified as they heard loud screams in the middle of the night. The disturbed people went outside and curiously looked at each other as they watched over the dark alleys. Just when they got bored of waiting and searching around, they decided to go back inside their homes, however before they even took a step at their front doors, a loud scream was heard again. They ran to where the sound was coming from and saw a lady crying hysterically, they were hesitant to approach her but as soon as they made up their minds and decided to go near her, she pointed to the area under the light post. Everyone gasped when they saw what the lady was trying to show them. They were stoned in their places as their eyes landed on the gruesome scene. A man lying on the cold ground was surrounded by his own blood, his throat was slit and there were multiple stab wounds in other parts of his body, and the most horrifying was the carved ‘X’ mark on his cheek.

As soon as the detectives and medical staff arrived, the scene was already filled with tears and frightened onlookers. So, the detectives tried to work fast in collecting evidence as the onlookers were multiplying. And in a blink of an eye, swarms of reporters, journalists, and onlookers had already surrounded them.

Among all the journalists interviewing people at the crime scene, one of them took the spotlight, a man named Florence Rodriguez who conquered the scene with his surprising ability to communicate with the detectives and onlookers. Right after Florence finished his job, he looked at his favorite journal and his eyes shined brightly with a big smile plastered on his face.

“I am done for today, I had so much fun,” Florence mouthed as he walked away from the scene. “I need to work hard again tomorrow.”

While Florence was smiling from ear to ear, Detective Westin, on the other side was stressed out because of the murder case. That was the first-ever murder that happened in their city and the citizens were totally frightened. Even when the detectives working with Detective Westin had promised to catch the criminal as soon as possible, it did not make them feel at ease.

“Now, we are not just facing the problem of catching the killer but also the complaints of the people who are afraid for their safety,” Detective Westin said to his colleagues, “Let’s go and check the scene again.”

Three weeks have passed, Detective Westin thought that they could easily catch the killer, but now they’re more burdened with compiling work and reports. Seven deaths were added to the list; all of them were suspected to have been killed by the same person. A carved ‘X’ mark on the victim’s cheek concluded the deaths as serial killings.

The newspapers and the media were covered with reports of the killings, the mysterious serial killer had been walking from the front to back pages of the newspapers and magazines.

Amid all the threats the serial killer imposed on the people, Florence was happy because all his works were being published, some were even written on the front page of the local magazines. He felt like he was on cloud nine because his work was recognized all around town.

“I worked hard for this, I am literally the best,” Florence said to himself. “No one can be like me; I gave the journalists exciting articles to write, and I made the detectives work away from their station. Isn’t it fun? They must have been so bored reporting lame news and working inside their stations.”

Days, weeks, and months have passed, the killings continued. It left the streets of Emerald City empty while drowning in the sea of grief and embraced by the cold howling wind.

With the increasing number of victims, Detective Westin was on a rollercoaster of emotion. He was mad as he couldn’t catch the criminal, he was sad for all the victims, he was frustrated and felt like an empty shell. He bolted to all the crime scenes like lighting, yet he got nothing, he searched all the corners of the city to find the killer, but he kept on failing.

After a year and a half, the killings suddenly stopped. The people were delighted as they could walk in a flowery path again. They celebrated from morning ‘til dawn. However, the detectives felt uneasy because they were not able to capture the mysterious killer. They were anxious because the killer got away with the murder and left the city in a tragic state.

*30 YEARS LATER*

“Sir, a letter for you,” the mailman said.

Detective Westin received the letter with a smile on his face while thanking the mailman. He curiously looked at the envelope as he opened it and suddenly his heartbeat could be heard by the whole world. His hands trembled and felt like he was going to explode while reading the letter.

Dear Mr. Westin,

Do you still remember me? 30 years ago, that’s the first time I met you.

You are such a hardworking man, many must have aspired to be you

if you were just able to capture that criminal.

Do you still want to catch him?

8025 Blue Street, Emerald City

Catch me if you can.  -FE

Detective Westin rushed to go to the said address. The anger in his eyes was visible, even his soul was eager to catch the killer. He arrived at the location, and it was an old house in a quiet village. He slowly walked until he reached the front door, turned the knob, and cautiously entered the house. But before Detective Westin could even take his fourth step inside the house, he blacked out.

“I’m sorry, I promise you’ll be my last job. This last article I will publish should at least be the most memorable.” Florence said while carving his signature ‘X’ symbol on Detective Westin’s face.

END

[fromnefelibata]

LOST MANKIND

An Unconventional Poem by Gaia Gwyneth Samson

I have seen robots walking freely on the streets.

I have heard car engines starting to fly off the sky.

I have smelled trees burning.

I have touched the water in rivers that felt like seaweeds.

I have tasted what pizza was like when it grew from the heat in a microwave.

Technology did not save humanity.

Poverty was not solved even in 2030.

Humanity lost their chance.

I am android 121. The first cyborg made in 2050.

I am the product of the lost mankind.

I could not dream of returning to dust for I am not made from mud.

I don't think I would ever reach heavens or hell.

The Lord I served could no longer accept me.

[fromnefelibata]

SAUDADE

A Conventional Poem by Gaia Gwyneth Samson

I said, I needed to be hurt like that

I just needed to live your cruelty

I know it's wrong but that's where I'm good at

Letting you fool me and step over me.

I want to be happy without you

For part of loving you was letting go

Removing every bit of that tattoo

Remember we're over ages ago

I'm tired of being the one who holds on

You left me building our castle in sand

Maybe it's time for me to move on

I'm finally letting go of your hand.

I hear the music but it's not my song

And I have no plans in singing along.

[fromnefelibata]

MISSING MOON

A One-Act Play by Frances Cherie Gutierrez CHARACTERS Everett – general of the Armed Forces, 54 years old. Mallory - second-in-command of the Armed Forces, 48 years old. Luna – Everett’s grandson, 3 years old. TIME The scene happens during 1608. PLACE A bridge near the ocean in Venice.

Scene Four

11 o’clock at night. No other people are

around on the bridge. MALLORY waits near

the railings with a stroller, and its canopy

is closed to hide LUNA.

EVERETT spots MALLORY from afar.

EVERETT

(Approaches) Mallory! I’m trying to avoid cigarettes lately if you called me here to take a smoke with me again—(Stops) Is that. . .why do you have a stroller with you? Since when did you have a baby?

MALLORY

You’re talkative, general. I was only gone for a week, and suddenly you asked a lot of questions. Anyway, how’s the situation with uncle Cassio?

EVERETT

Rumors have been circulating in the town about him murdering Othello after having an affair with Desdemona years ago. I have no idea why they are bringing it up all of a sudden (rubs his temples). It gives me headaches.

MALLORY

What about the other one? People are saying that you. . .you killed your spouse and had an affair with me when she was alive. I’m sorry because it might affect your position as a general.

EVERETT

(Laughs) Pay no heed to that. That’s the most ridiculous rumor I’ve heard.

MALLORY (Keeps silent and forces a smile.)

And the origin? Any ideas about the culprit? I can lend some help.

EVERETT

You don’t have to do that and just focus on your duties in the army tomorrow. By the way, where have you been?

MALLORY (Stares at the ocean.)

I visited her grave. It’s been years since I went there. You already met her before that incident, right?

EVERETT (Clears his throat.)

Yes, and my deepest sympathy for your mother.

MALLORY

I used to look up to my father like he was a hero, but I was left alone with despair about my parents. People kept asking me about him like Iago this and Iago that. I’m getting tired of them yapping nonstop about it. However, I’m thankful you were there for me (Smiles).

EVERETT

My pleasure. Is this the reason you called me out here? You should have told me in the beginning.

(MALLORY takes out two cigarettes from her pocket and tosses one to EVERETT.)

EVERETT (Catches the cigarette.)

What’s the point of telling you beforehand that I don’t want to—(Groans) I guess one smoke wouldn’t hurt.

(MALLORY giggles and lights up both of their cigarettes when EVERETT stands close to her. EVERETT and MALLORY silently watch the moon together while smoking.)

EVERETT

Oh, you didn’t answer these questions. When did you have a baby? Who’s the father?

MALLORY

Quit asking me. Are you jealous or what?

EVERETT (Scoffs)

I have no reason to be envious. Besides, I’ve never seen you date anyone before. I’m only curious, that’s all.

MALLORY

Speaking of which, when will you start going on dates and find someone new?

EVERETT (Puffs out a smoke)

I’m old and... I can’t imagine myself cherishing another woman except her. Although she’s gone, I don’t mind staying alone until I die. I’ll wait until I see her again in the afterlife. Is this enough to answer your question?

MALLORY

What about me? Date me again like we used to—

EVERETT (Snorts)

You must be kidding me. I guess smoking is making you high already. We should head back to the barracks (Throws the cigarette).

MALLORY

(MALLORY grabs EVERETT’S arm)

Wait, can I ask you another question? If you don’t mind.

EVERETT

Out with it.

MALLORY

Did you love me back before you got married?

EVERETT (Stays quiet for a while and slowly shakes his head.)

No.

MALLORY

What do you mean? (Grips his arm) We dated before you met her. I don’t understand. I was always there for you when you needed me, and she wasn’t.

EVERETT

You don’t know anything about her. That was years ago, Mallory, we were teens (Sighs).

MALLORY

Ah, of course, you would answer that. What was I expecting? After all, you loved her more than me. Despite all the tortures that I had to bear to be with you through thick and thin during those battles, a deceased woman is still the winner. I can’t believe you!

EVERETT (Looks at her with eyes widened and pulls out his arm.)

Why are you like this out of the blue, huh? I’m sorry, but you didn’t have to join the army because of me. Why am I getting the blame for your stupidity? It’s been five years, Mallory! Five years since she died, and you are still holding a grudge against her? Give me a damn break! I’m leaving (Turns and walks away).

MALLORY

Are you sure you want to go home without your grandson?

(EVERETT freezes and slowly turns around to face her, MALLORY carries LUNA in her arms and points the gun to his grandson. CRIES are heard from LUNA.) MALLORY

Didn’t I tell you that I want us to have a future together? I always begged to be loved again and for us to get married after my parents left, but I never knew you would fall in love with that wench and have a perfect family. You ruined my life, Everett, to the point that I’ll kill anyone if that will make you suffer! (Laughs) I loved you, but you didn’t. Yes! You deserve this!

EVERETT

Mallory, we can talk this out, but Luna. . .don’t drag him into this—

MALLORY (Shoots EVERETT in the stomach and left shoulder.)

Since I can’t have you, I’ll take away your life. You should be thanking me for seeing your wife in the afterlife.

EVERETT (Coughs out blood)

(Glares) You. . . curse you!

MALLORY

A dead person shouldn’t talk. Do you want to hold him before you die? (Puts the baby on his lap) You look pathetic, general! (Laughs)

EVERETT (Stays silent for a moment while staring and caressing LUNA’S cheek)

Luna. . .I’m sorry.

(EVERETT quickly jumps off the bridge with LUNA.) BLACKOUT

[fromnefelibata]

BLEEDING HEARTS

A One-Act Play by Sophia Joana Yalung CHARACTERS Quintia - a wealthy 23 year-old woman. Octavia - 21 year-old woman. Anais - 21 year-old woman. Cyra - 22 year-old woman. TIME The time is back in the 1900's. PLACE Cyra's home in a small village located in Vigan.

Scene 5

Siesta time. Cyra's living room.

OCTAVIA lays on ANAIS' lap.

DOOR bangs open with the sight of

QUINTIA, two body guards, and a

'doctor' looking man. OCTAVIA and

ANAIS gets shocked.

QUINTIA

Two months' deal is over, bring out Cyra.

OCTAVIA (Immediately sits properly)

What have you come for? Cyra left for the city just this morning and asked us to take care of the house, I am not sure of her return.

QUINTIA (Walks near them and crosses arms)

Oh, really? I guess this falls to a tragic conclusion. Surrender the heart.

OCTAVIA

What? What heart?

QUINTIA

From our sealed deal?

OCTAVIA

Deal? Whose heart?

QUINTIA

Yours. I guess Cyra never really told you. This makes me laugh.

OCTAVIA

What?

ANAIS

Excuse me?

QUINTIA

You know, for someone I like, I never knew that you're stunningly deaf. Can't you hear me? I said your heart from the deal. Unless you want me to call the authorities for an official arrest?

ANAIS

Hello? I'm literally right here, how dare you demand for the heart of the love of my life?

(QUINTIA rolls her eyes and ignores the offended ANAIS.)

OCTAVIA

She's right. You can't just come here demanding for my heart when I don't even like you! I get that I am beautiful and you're wealthy enough to woo me, sure, but you're disgustingly rude!

(ANAIS aggressively nods in agreement. QUINTIA rolls her eyes and laughs.)

QUINTIA (Crosses arms)

My dear, as much as I want your love, I'm going to have to apologize for the misunderstanding. Hopefully this is not rude enough for your liking?

OCTAVIA

Huh? What have you come for then?

QUINTIA

Heavens, we're going in circles. Here.

(QUINTIA hands her a legal document regarding CYRA's stamp in the agreement. ANAIS' eyes enlarge with the shocking news.)

OCTAVIA (Reads the paper)

Oh. You meant my heart, literally.

ANAIS (Looks at the paper too and reacts exaggeratedly)

Cyra had that much debt? Oh my! Also, you're turning my darling into an organ stock? Who do you think you are, you monster? This is very inhumane! You are so—

QUINTIA (Cuts ANAIS off)

Yes, now Octavia, do as I say and follow my people.

(QUINTIA grabs OCTAVIA's arm. OCTAVIA looks confused.)

ANAIS

Wait!

(QUINTIA and OCTAVIA stop to look at ANAIS. ANAIS turns to her back as if she is changing persona and returns to face QUINTIA who is puzzled.)

ANAIS (Stands up and offers hand)

This is illegal, madame. I am Octavia's legal lawyer, Anais Balthazar.

QUINTIA (Sarcastically claps)

Wow, what a disguise. You sound so stupid. Also, Balthazar? Really? I have run a check on your background before. Quit the Portia act. What do you think this is, a Shakespearean play? (Scoffs.)

OCTAVIA (Stands up)

Hey! Don't call her stupid. (Adoringly looks at ANAIS) You don't look stupid, okay? Thank you, my love, for trying to protect me.

ANAIS

It is my pleasure, after all. (Quickly changes facial expression after facing QUINTIA) How do you even know I like Shakespeare, anyway? What are you, my stalker? (Pulls OCTAVIA.)

QUINTIA

Just shut your mouth, I can't believe you're my rival when you're this stupid. (Pulls OCTAVIA back.)

ANAIS (Slowly pulls OCTAVIA to sit with her on the sofa)

I can't believe Cyra hasn't told us this.

OCTAVIA

It's fine. It must've been hard for her too.

ANAIS

But still. You're the most important—

QUINTIA

I'm not into drama very much, can we please just proceed?

(QUINTIA pulls OCTAVIA's hand once again.)

OCTAVIA

I can walk by myself. Where do I go?

ANAIS (ANAIS pulls OCTAVIA's hand.)

If you're taking her heart, receive mine too. I have no more reason to pursue life.

OCTAVIA

My dear, no. Live even without me.

ANAIS

No, not when—

QUINTIA (Mocking in tiny voice)

"Not when you're not here with me" blah blah blah. How romantic. Well, fine, whatever. I'm taking both your hearts. I heard you are the reason for all the debt anyway.

OCTAVIA

What? No!

(QUINTIA's guards forcefully take both OCTAVIA and ANAIS to the room and lock the door, QUINTIA follows. QUINTIA comes out with two bags on both her hands.)

QUINTIA

Oh! You're here. (Smiles.)

CYRA

Yes. I realized today is the end of our deal? I came back from the city to get the funds. So... here!

(CYRA hands QUINTIA an envelope with a large amount of money. QUINTIA declines the offer.)

QUINTIA

Oh? (Laughs) No need. Your loveliest friends paid for everything after all. I shall take my leave now, tell them I said thank you for the entertainment.

CYRA

Right. I'm keeping this then. Thanks.

QUINTIA

Share your gratitude to your peers instead, maybe? I'm off, then. See you never.

(CYRA gets confused with the sight of two bags, two body guards, and an illegal looking doctor. Nevertheless, CYRA excitedly jumps of joy, as if she had won the lottery. CYRA looks up and thanks the skies.)

CYRA

Tav! Naih! Where'd you get—

(CYRA opens the door and sees two dissected corpses. CYRA falls to her knees but slowly reaches for a paper she sees.)

CYRA (Reads the note left on the table)

“I guess we owe you none from now, haha! But do remember that from life to death, nevertheless of where, we're always glad to be by your side. Thank you for all the free beautiful flowers, friend.”

(Tears fall off of CYRA's eyes.)

BLACKOUT

[fromnefelibata]

2030

An Unconventional Poem by Edward Michael Abulencia

The future of the world

Its good times and bad times

Robots, flying cars, and Mars colonies

While we have droughts and sinking cities

I’m rich man in Texas

I’m with my robot

Send help here

Save me from this hellhole

I’m poor man from Bengal

Currently sinking

Send help here

Save me from this hell

The world now is burning

Sinking cities is reality

Oh, now help me

The writer of this poem

[fromnefelibata]

FALL OF KABUL

A Conventional Poem by Edward Michael Abulencia

Oh Afghanistan

Oh no, poor Kabul

Fall by Taliban

It’s so fast to fall

Fifteenth of August

Twenty twenty one

Yankee to depart

Government is gone

Called it a graveyard

British were the first

Soviet went second

America last

Oh Afghanistan

Oh a poor nation

[fromnefelibata]

FLAW IMPROVED

A Craft Essay by Kyla Clarisse Dizon

Writing makes my flaws visible to everyone, especially when the language is English. But I possessed Lao Tzu's sayings, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." Every moment is an opportunity step to become better.

During my childhood summer year, I used to love writing Filipino stories in my tiny room at my Grandparents' house, which is in a settler neighborhood. Grandmother enjoyed purchasing books for me as she believed I appreciate writing and reading. Little did she know, I make use of writing to create some stories as if I am the child's play that fulfills her childhood dreams. 

In my cramped room, only my little hands would fit through the small window in my room, where I watch other children happily play together under the bright hot sun. Since my uncles and auntie strictly forbid me from playing with the 'squatter kids,' as they called. Subsequently, I had no friends, which forced me to have fun alone. A stab of jealousy always hits me whenever I see other kids play outside. While I, only read a Filipino fictional children's story and write stories about a happy kid who portrayed me as the main character. 

One day, I decided to write a story outside my room and went to our sari-sari store. I wanted to create a story back then about me as the daughter of the Mayor who has a lot of friends. The halfway of me writing my story, suddenly the Kids I was jealous of went to buy candy in our store. I looked at their toys, long rope made of a rubber band, and their slippers placed in their arm. In my jealousy, I forgot that I had been staring at them for a long time, which made them look at me in astonishment. One of them reached out to me and asked if she was allowed to see my work. At first, I was hesitant to show my work since my writing is the worst and only I can understand it. But because they were insistent, I showed it at the end. I was disappointed to discover that they hated writing and reading stories and preferred to play outside. Though, my emotions changed when they invited me to join them in their playground. It caused the butterflies in my stomach to begin flying.

Moments happened, I used to be friends with them resulted in me enjoying my childhood time playing under the bright hot sun with them. I left my room to play Filipino games outside as I also abandoned my hobby of reading and writing. I realized back then how I am happy to have friends to play with outside. The friendship I developed with them assisted me in having a wonderful childhood. Yet summer passed, as I went to study in school, my friendship with them did not last since I met new classmate friends in my school. My childhood friends were bitter and jealous of me now that they knew I went to a prestigious elementary school, and they began to distance themselves from me because they thought of me becoming boastful about it. That prompted me to leave my grandparents' home and move in with my parents. And I ventured on my academic journey.

In elementary years, I began being conscious of myself because most of my classmates are fluent in English, whereas I am not. That started me to focus on my strength which I found that I am more interested and skilled in a Math subject. I acted not to concentrate on my English class because it has always been my weakest subject. My lowest grades in English classes are consistent year after year, which I don't mind because I have never been particularly good at it. I always admit that I wasn't very good at it until high school. My family, friends, and teachers all know that I was more determined to learn Math than English. Because of my abilities, they also pushed me to change my intended course to accountancy. However, I am unconcerned about them and still compelled for my preferred college course, criminology.

Throughout my grade 10 school year, I have been convinced about choosing the HUMSS strand in senior high, since it is related to the course I want to take. That HUMSS strand will allow the development of my public speaking skills, which are beneficial and required in my chosen college course. According to my Grade 10 teacher, the HUMSS strand contains a lot of English subjects, including Creative Writing, and only two math subjects, which results in me being hesitant to enter the HUMSS strand is. It makes me fearful that I will fail several subjects during my SHS journey. 

As a Grade 11 student beginning of senior high school journey, online learning is a new setting experience of studying. It excited and motivated me while also putting me under pressure because I know there will be a lot of writing activity in a strand that I entered, Humanities and Social Sciences. In addition, being in the first section forced me to work hard in order to keep up with my classmates. English subjects in Grade 11 made me meticulous of my outputs to the point where I had to double-check them before submitting.

Grammatically incorrect and limited English made me struggle. To the point where my level of commitment to studying day and night made me upset when I saw my grades and only one subject, English is on my line of eight. However, as I tried to push myself to be more motivated, I continued to study hard on my outputs. That English subject motivated me more to learn to the point where I speak English to myself to expand my knowledge in the language. I occasionally spoke up and wrote in English during my self-time. And all of my hard work paid off when my name made it to the honor roll for two consecutive semesters.

The final year before entering the next phase of my life, which is in college. As I realized that this is the final year of high school, entering grade 12 made me proud of myself. Well, pressure still exists on me as I became part of the first section again. Moreso, pressure on me is like a heavy coat laid over my back. This year, I promised myself that I would learn new things to improve. In which on how to learn to write with expressed intent. Also, my goal is to figure out how to confidently express myself in words, and I'm not going to write sluggish sentences; instead, I'm writing sentences that will pack a punch. Other people's writing inspires me, obviously, so I'd be able to write impressively as well. 

The Creative Writing subject makes me more challenged in terms of learning about how to write stories. I used to believe that writing was simple and that I could write stories about anything I wanted at any time like I used to do when I was a kid. I now understand why writers set aside time to write because there are many rules to follow in writing that I learned in our Creative Writing subject. 

Above all, I want to write stories again that makes me proud of myself for having written them. My little ability is not a barrier for me to stop learning in writing. Since everybody nowadays is a writer. Every day, people used to post on social media and send text messages. However, not everyone is a great writer and has given to a select few who put forth the effort and can make a skillful remark. But I believe in my potential and purpose as a writer with the help of entering the Creative Writing subject.

I accept that my abilities are insufficient, which is why I must double up on my efforts to learn. Even though I begin my journey into this subject, I am aware that I will face numerous challenges. It's a mixture of emotions for me, happy, anxious, and stressful. And I can say it is a helpful journey that improves my writing skills and expresses my imagination more. 

Every moment is an opportunity to learn, and new opportunities I am not good at every day are a good step. I am confident that, in the long run, I will recognize my full potential, which will expand and maximize my life's purpose.

[fromnefelibata]

MY WRITING JOURNEY

A Craft Essay by Kyle Christian Malonzo

A consistent honor student since pre-elementary without reading and just listening. I simply listen to the lecture of my teacher and simply comply. I am proud that I am always in the honor roll without the exertion of reading and asking for somebody's support. Even if there is an upcoming quarterly examination, I would rather play outside with friends and have fun instead of getting exhausted by reading my books, which I have never tried. I was independent and confident and thought that I was perfect and smart. 

Time went by, I was in 7th grade. I was very disappointed that I wasted time. I should have read more books and enhanced my vocabulary and imagination. Then, for the very first moment, we were tasked to write an essay. I was frightened because I cannot put my opinions into words and I felt the pressure because everyone can. I looked down on myself. 

Turning 15 and my vocabulary is as deep as a puddle. Thinking about when I will be better. How can I be better if I am not even trying hard? The only action that I made was to listen. Listening to music and lessons from my teachers. Watching movies and cartoons. Aside from reading books, watching english movies and listening to music became my companion to expand my vocabulary and to be a good writer. 

It is difficult for me, as an introvert, to write based on experiences because I spend most of my time at home, alone. Although, being alone does not necessarily mean that I am lonely. Being alone brings the better in me. I am also glad that God blessed me with a vast imagination which works better when I work alone. Most of the time I use my imagination to write. Since writing was not really my specialty, I solely write when it is a requirement for school. To be honest, writing makes me delighted and relieved, especially when we are tasked to create a poem. Because when I was 8, I was exposed to Filipino rap music and rap battles. It fascinates me how these artists play with words and make them rhyme. Although, sometimes it does not even mean anything, it just simply rhymes. However, Gloc-9, my favorite artist, was one of the artists that I  respected. I was too young to understand the message that his music conveyed. But I truly like to sing along with him through the speaker all day long. My family and relatives were even surprised at how good I rap. But today, it is not as good as it used to be. He became my inspiration to write poems related to current events and existence. I also tried to start a diary but I was always occupied by video games.

Today, I am 18 and this is what a writer I became. Small and slow progress but it is still progress. Presently, I apply the knowledge I have learned in the subject of Creative Writing. I feel relaxed whenever I write about my frustrations and problems. It was indeed a tough year and writing became one of my coping tools. I am hoping that I will be better in the future.