["when the ravens murder KRIZZIA RICCI NEPOMUCENO He attempted to blow the straws off his shoulders as blistered chaff fell from where the ravens preened their feathers. Low, gritty croaks broke out of their sharp beaks, squawking prodigies that foretell a catastrophe. They formed a tempest over his head. A squall of ebony waiting to swallow him whole\u2014poised to dredge his roots away. Even so, he had long been earthed in the dry prills of the parched soil, a skeleton hooked six feet under the barren ground of this empty field. And as long as that went, he had been a man laid under the sun\u2014a sacrifice for scourge, a lone shack in a godforsaken farm. Like a burlesque oblation, he lived his entire life merely a caricature to rattle the birds who, with time, turned numb. Dust coughed out of his droughty lips, a mark left by the heat\u2019s reign over the deathless meadows. It is not until twilight that the man pries his mouth open to warn the ravens of the impending decay. \u201cNever fall in love with a scarecrow,\u201d he said to the birds time and again. \u201cA jackstraw does not have a heart nor a brain, only sun-burnt fodder, and his husk bones will wear your own.\u201d Abhorrent, the birds of prey spread their wings like capes shrouding the ruby horizons into night, basking in their haughty shrieks. Like withered, empty hulls of grass, his words were just a passing breeze. Who would ever believe a man pieced into existence with rags and hay? Soon enough, a flock of crows brood over him with their sable feathers, quills dismounting their wings with every strike to the wind. Silence. Oblivion. He stands there, crucified. 41","A Chill in the Wind Fall Guy 2837 ART BY MIKEY VINCENT VICENTE","My body recoiled as I caught myself against Windstride\u2019s wall, gathering my bearings on the scene before me. \u201cNot again,\u201d I muttered as the crowd thinned, going about their day, leaving the coroners to their business. My feet dragged itself away from the square. Something was uncanny, and something was definitely amiss. Nearing the frigid castle gates, I could neither attend to nor repress the bile rising to my throat. The guards knew my face, and let me pass without question. Manfried, the king\u2019s steward threw me his usual greeting while pointing me towards the dungeons. I gave him a curt nod before starting my descent with only the thud of my steps as company. Stepping foot into the darkest reach of the castle, I paced myself. All of the cells were empty, except for a memorable one down by the corner. \u201cWell, well. Look who decided to return,\u201d a familiar voice crept from the darkness it housed as I neared the end of the hall. A figure revealed himself in robes under the rather dim glow of the solitary sconce lighting the dungeon. \u201cAnother victim,\u201d almost stumbling over my words. My gaze was met by squinted eyes from his wrinkled face, preceding the sound of slow clapping, spite lacing every interval of it. \u201cShame. And here I am,\u201d he mocked, shifting his weight on the jagged stone bed. \u201cLooks like you aren\u2019t what you thought you were.\u201d A moment passed in silence, as I stood there under the ex-court wizard\u2019s smug grin that only continued to unnerve me. \u201cLook, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d wringing the words out of my mouth. \u201cBut I need your help, even though I can do it myself,\u201d I mumbled. Wuund\u2019s grin quickly faded. \u201cWell, you can\u2019t be a wizard without a blasphemous amount of patience, especially in Windstride.\u201d Despite the ordeal, it was oddly comforting to hear that from him. 43","\u201cChild, do you remember that amulet?\u201d The wizard suddenly asked. \u201cI want to know why you thought it was mine.\u201d Rummaging around my satchel, my eyes caught a skulled talisman, hanging from a string of leather that held it together. I took it out and dangled it in front of the wizard. \u201cThere was an apothecary in the city, Cal I believe, owner of that place with the alchemy station. He appraised this as the amulet of the dead, a necromancer\u2019s tool. You were the only wizard in the city. That\u2019s why I was so certain,\u201d I explained, a part of it as an effort to cooperate with him\u2014another part of it\u2014to justify my suspicions. I was wrong, but it would be easy to see why, and I hoped that the man at least understood that. \u201cAnd you believed him?\u201d Wuund retorted, voice booming. Silence. \u201cChild, I am a court wizard of his highness; I can assure you that no mage within any royal kingdom has baubles and trinkets that reek of taboo necromancy.\u201d Meek pride seeped through the certainty? Letting out a raspy cough, he continued: \u201cI have been living in this city for over 30 years now. I know everyone here. Now, if you say I\u2019m the only wizard in this city\u2014which yes, I am\u2014then\u2014\u201d \u201cWhy would Cal know what the amulet is, much more a taboo one...\u201d I finished, much to his annoyance. He cleared his throat, to which I remained quiet in attention. \u201cNow if memory serves me correct, today is a Freia. As I recall, the man often takes walks on the city docks at night on Sadeias, which is tomorrow.\u201d Still, a tinge of doubt tugged at the corners of my mind, wondering if I was going to get this wrong as well. I asked if he was sure. \u201cHe always was an odd fellow, and it has been more conspicuous lately,\u201d the wizard feebly muttered. Gods, I wished he would be more forward. 44","","\u201cHas anything noteworthy happened to him lately?\u201d Whether or not I should have asked, I chose to press further. \u201cI\u2019m a wizard, not an oracle,\u201d he retorted, and rolled over to face the dingy prison wall. I gave Wuund a curt thanks and went for the stairs. Before starting my ascent, I steeled myself and asked one final question to the wizard. \u201cAnd what if you\u2019re wrong?\u201d \u201cCould be. After all, I\u2019m just a feeble old man sitting in a dark cell.\u201d Son of a b*tch... Following the wizard\u2019s lead, I had myself hidden between some fresh cargo on the docks the next night. There\u2019s no one here and I wondered if I was misled by that old man. Before I lost myself in thought, a young woman passed by my hiding spot, running away as a figure of a man gave chase. Cold sweat chilled my body as I bide my time, drawing my own blade\u2014a dagger\u2014in anticipation. 46","Suddenly, there was a sound of blade plunging into flesh and a shriek. Springing from the cargo, I dashed towards the two, dagger gripped in hand. The man didn\u2019t seem to know I was near-at-hand (or he didn\u2019t care). I grabbed a hold of his shoulder as I felt his head snapping to face me. I felt a foreign object enter my lower abdomen\u2014 cold steel. At the height of my focus, all that was left to do was to thrust. In a second, it was all over. I turned the body over, expecting to find an unfamiliar face, but was greeted by the lifeless eyes of the apothecary that Wuund had mentioned. Steadying my breath, I began to remove the blade lodged into me as my hands quaked in fear. Dropping the bloody knife, I clutched my wound while the metal clanged against stone. Picking up a journal from Cal\u2019s bag, I fell onto the snowy stone floor, and began sifting through the pages. To confirm that this really was the end or to heed my curiosity\u2014I didn\u2019t know. Flipping to the most recent entry, I scanned through: \u201cModeia of the Third Season, 5 more bones, a left lung, and the foot tendon. Sister, I\u2019ve almost done it. How long has it been? 3 years? 3 years since I\u2019ve heard your voice, Lilia. That\u2019s why I studied all of this, my dear sister, this foul art of corpses and curses. But no matter, because once I complete your new body, we\u2019ll be together again, and all will be well. I feel bad for those women I\u2019ve killed, but I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll forgive me once you see how pretty you look in their skin. You\u2019ll come back to me soon. Right?\u201d 47","Pag-ikot ng Tsubibo DREXEL JOHN AMIT \u201cHay,\u201d aking buntong-hininga habang nakatungo\u2019t pinagsakluban ng langit at lupa ang mukha. Mag-iisang oras na rin siguro akong nakaupo sa matigas na bangko malapit sa bangketa ng cotton candy ngunit hindi ko magawang tumindig. Kasabay ng aligagang pagtalbog ng aking mga binti ay ang panaka-nakang pagsulyap sa kumpol ng mga tao sa paligid. Umaasa akong mahahagilap ng aking paningin ang kaniyang matangkad at maskuladong tindig na tinambalan ng undercut. Bigong makita ang pamilyar na pigura, ako\u2019y napayuko; marahang isinara ang mga talukap. \u201cAno ako? Uto-uto? Bakit naman ako pipikit at magbibilang?\u201d angil ko sa paandar niyang pampakalma raw. \u201cSyempre para matuklasan mo kung gaano kadilim ang mundo ko sa bawat segundong hindi kita nakikita,\u201d saad niya na may kasamang ngisi. Tiim-bagang na pinipigilan ang pagtawa sa kanyang kakorniha\u2019y sinunod ko ang kanyang utos. \u201cSayang! Doble sa asul pero walang tumaya.\u201d Napamulat ako. Unti-unting inangat ang aking paningin sabay marahang bumaling sa kaliwa. Nagtitilian ang mga mananaya ng color game sa tuwing nakiki-ayon ang swerte sa kanila. Sa mangha\u2019t galak ng mga parokyano sa perya\u2019y muli na naman siyang sumayad sa aking kamalayan. \u201cTignan mo oh! Tatlong pula yung lumabas! Ayos!\u201d baling ko sa kaniya nang makitang triple ang magiging kahig namin matapos tumaya sa pula. \u201cAng swerte\u2014\u201d \u201cAko pa ba?\u201d pagmamayabang ko bago pa niya matapos ang sasabihin. \u201c\u2014ko talaga sa\u2019yo,\u201d sambit niya na sabay kindat. Tila wala atang panama 48","ang kasabikan ko sa taun-taon naming pagsakay sa tsubibo sa mga kiliting kasalukuyan niyang ipinadarama sa aking dibdib. \u201cOh! Sa mga gusto pang humabol diyan!\u201d hiyaw ng konduktor ng tsubibo na siyang muling nagpabalik sa aking ulirat. \u201cHuling larga na ng tsubibo ngayong huling gabi ng perya!\u201d Daig ko pa ang tulin ng kidlat sa pagkaripas tungo sa kinaroroonan nito nang umalingawngaw ang anyaya ng konduktor. Gayunpaman, nakikipagtunggalian sa aking isip ang pagpapatuloy at paghihintay. \u201cNangako siya sa\u2019king darating siya,\u201d munti kong usal sa sarili. Napahinto ako ilang metro mula sa kinaroroonan ng tsubibo. Muli akong luminga pakaliwa\u2019t pakanan, tila sinusuyod ang bawat sulok ng perya. Nakakunot ang noo\u2019t panay libot ang mata, pilit sumasagi ang konduktor sa\u2019king paningin. \u201cBahala na.\u201d Napailing ako\u2019t inihakbang ang kanang paa\u2014 \u201cATONG!\u201d Hinay-hinay kong nilingon ang pinanggalingan ng tinig. \u201cBaste?\u201d Hindi mapigilan ng aking mga labing ngumisi habang tanaw ang kanyang bawat hakbang na pinupunan ang tila bagang milya naming pagitan. \u201cPasensya na talaga, Atong. Kanina ka pa ba?\u201d humahangos niyang pahayag. 49","Walang imik kong inalok ang aking hulas na palad. Dali-dali ko siyang hinigit at hinila sa mabato-batong daan tungo sa tsubibo. Hindi na nagawa pang kumawala ng mga daing mula sa kanyang nakaawang na bibig nang tumigil kami sa harap ng nasabing sakayan. Mabuti na lang at naabutan namin bago pa ito maipihit paandar ng konduktor. \u201cTulad ng dati?\u201d \u201cTulad ng dati.\u201d Mataman kong pinagmasdan ang iba\u2019t ibang palaro at pakulo ng perya habang unti-unti silang nagiging tuldok sa aking paningin nang magsalita si Baste. \u201cAnim na taon na rin pala tayo, Atong, \u2018no? Sana \u2018di ka magsawang samahan ako sa pag-ikot ng tsubibo.\u201d Isang kuntentong ngiti ang sumagi sa aking mga labi. 50","NON-FICTION ART BY ANGEL TARUBALLES 51","Hip-hop in the Time of Appendicitis HEZRON PIOS \t what you don\u2019t know can hurt you \t what you don\u2019t know can turn your body \t against you \t\t\t\u2014Brian Russell Blessed are those with low pain tolerance: The world drops you mid- air then asks, Are you alright? In 2014, my name got crossed out of a line-up consisted of 12 members for an interschool dance competition I dreamt of joining since sophomore year. If I had the guts back then, I could have been expelled from school at 16. If I had the guts back then, I would not be talking about this, and that, this, that, this, that, this, that, and this, though I\u2019m getting ahead of myself. The narrative begins in the part where I was in the parking lot, practicing. Post-lunch, our crew leader turned on the music from his portable speaker. I walked towards the stage. I warmed up and up. Then, collapse. My heart did not halt its beating when the pediatrician prescribed me to take a physical hiatus. My heart did not halt its beating when Doc said an inflammation consumed my appendix. My heart halted its beating when our choreographer yelled at me in his studio. His voice booming like the portable speaker. There\u2019s nothing I can do, he said. I begged him to continue my training, but my crewmates pulled me from the scene. We went downstairs and someone suggested that we should meet our contest coordinator; to commute back to school and secure an explanation. I broke down in public and the only consolation I got was the impolite buzzing of Central Market jeepneys driven to reach their daily quota. I wished for invisibility. But no one was able to pacify the spectacle, if one could call it a spectacle. No one. Not even my dumb best friend. In a dream, I was submerged. The pool tasted like my prescribed antibiotics. Despite running out of breath, I stayed below the surface for a long, long while. I couldn\u2019t make it past the blues, into the light of day. Hurting had no logic. My P.E. teacher was the culprit who submitted the lineup, my name excluded. This is the part where we were seated on the floor of an 52","PHOTO BY KARL BRIAN MARQUEZ5A3","abandoned classroom and the textbooks demanded a calm behavior out of us. Yet this is also the part of the narrative where I imagined ways of seeking vengeance, flesh and blood. The staccato of her words, while delivering her revelation, landed as heavy as barks of trees sent like projectiles by an unknown force: Nahatag ko na ang listahan, \u2018ta. Wala na ko sang may maubra. A repeat of weeping. A cold stare from my teacher\u2019s eyes which I will never forget. Then more antibiotics. During the bluest afternoon in the school that must be nameless, it invited a swarm of visitors. Almost everyone was there. It was the day of Hip-Hop High, after all. I felt my body was no longer mine for the remaining hours. Instead of beaming with pride, like a fucking stage dad, I envied my crew. On the bleachers, my schoolmates cheered on\u2014raising their placards with captions in a bold typeface. Applause, applause, applause. How I wished my body had levitated the moment my crew appeared onstage. If I could have been there, I would have been there. Staying until they finished their performance in their football costume was a sin. They won Second Place whereas I lost my own. Taking sides mattered. And that\u2019s unarguable. In another dream, I am the choreographer, an older guy, lashing out against a teenage boy who\u2019s about to burst into tears. I am lecturing him about Toughening Up but my words are gibberish, if not poorly chosen. I am lecturing him that life is forever unfair, that others know no fairness. The way we choose a word is the way we choose to reveal ourselves. Months later, healing was mercurial: a kneading of your heart a million times\u2014to kick it hard, to throw it like a frisbee disc, to pull off CPR. It is an elliptical art that would require a marathon of unpleasant seasons in order to be able to move forward. Lose your direction and you\u2019ll be back to the pilot episode. But I do not need to be a saint. I may summon the patience of rocks yet it is not a gesture worth taking. There are those who deserve more but are given less, and there are those who deserve less but are given abundance. Hence, I do not need to wash out the Passion in me. My body is my poetry. I\u2019ll tend to its tangible rhythm. Wait for it to sing. 54","What I Owe to Odyssey IVEE MANGUILIMOTAN My head was bobbing as the bumpy bus swerved to change lanes. An old film was playing on the flat screen up front, my friends were dozing off on their backpacks, and the scenery outside the window was morphing into indiscernible streaks of colors at the speed of 60 miles per hour. Like any typical teenager, I thought I could take on the world. I remember coming home drunk from underage drinking at a local pub to the point of conversing through slurs, while listlessly staying upright the moment the front gate came into view. I could only pray my parents wouldn\u2019t find out that their unica hija wasn\u2019t the way they\u2019d been picturing to be. As I watched the blur of passing cars, rusty old homes, endless fields of rice, and the silhouettes of people I would never meet, the comfort of the chase\u2014in between leaving and arriving\u2014made me think even further. I considered myself a closeted problem child. I don\u2019t remember when, but I can recall witnessing this kind of rebellion grow in the stifled confines of my room. There were tears in between ragged breathing as the gradual nausea built up, and wounds drawing by the pulse until the world spinned from my vision. And amidst the chaos of it all: silence pierced with needle-like shrillness\u2014lost in a void I couldn\u2019t crawl out of. Days flew by without any meaning, and I found my entire being numbed, cold, and unbearably alone. Silence ensued. Which came first, I wondered, the withdrawal or the loneliness? It wasn\u2019t long after that when pain became a friend, and blood, a comfort. Tears no longer lingered during those nights. I couldn\u2019t really recall much after that. I just braced myself for what was to come. The bus let out a soft sputter before it slowed down to a complete stop. And as my friends and I scampered towards the exit, I could feel the anticipation washing away the lapping uncertainty of the unknown. We arrived at the last wharf before reaching the island of the giants. After reaching the pier, it was by some stroke of bad luck that the boatmen 55","stationed there informed us of the last boat\u2019s departure. Worse, it was a once-per-day passenger trip to the island. At that point, the summer warmth over my skin started to fade. With a heavy heart, I heaved a sigh before checking my wallet for spare change. Escape was still miles of sea away. There was no way I could go back after lying about being gone to do school stuff to my parents. Hell no. More than that, I couldn\u2019t bear to go home after having that bit of freedom. The air, the sun, the ground, the sky\u2014for the first time, they beckoned the freedom I have been chasing. To me, this was silence offering a truce. Luckily, I withdrew all of my savings from the bank (leaving me near flat broke) and managed to bargain with a kind boatman to offer us a trip and a tour for the whole 3D2N ordeal, without the hassle of squeezing in a tight boat with strangers during passenger trips. After securing a boat exclusively for us, we set off through the calm sea for three hours. The waves were daunting with its stillness, lacking its usual roar. I could have sworn I saw some big creature swimming right under when I squinted my eyes enough, yet the sputter of the engine pulled me out of my trance when we reached land. My feet were planted on the afternoon sand, but it felt like the waves were still rocking my entirety from all sides. My medium-sized rucksack seemed like it carried rocks but I could not understand the light feeling soaring through my system. I breathed in the scent of salt while the sunrays peeking through the clouds struck the waves tussling by the shore with immense sparkle\u2014it was almost blinding. At nightfall, the sea mirrored the sky every time we stirred the still waves with our unloose limbs. Without the light pollution from the city streets, the stars mirrored a map light years away from our reach. My friends argued whether they were sorcery or the plain existence of bioluminescent planktons. We settled on agreeing to disagree. Nevertheless, we were in awe of its transcendence. Comets passed by with placid silence. The universe was so vast, and yet, I felt like I was there, in a place I rightfully belonged. That day, I set out into the world and found answers. 56","PHOTO BY KERGUELEN MONTALES 57","Apak PATRICK BILLOJAN ART BY ANGELA CORONEL 58","Marso 24, 2005 Pinaka-dabest na araw Hari ba ako sa araw na ito? Para kasing palasyo ang bahay namin ngayon sa dami ng handa ni mama. Ipinagluto niya ako ng paborito ko. \u2018Yung parang mahabang noodles na may sows at hotdog \u2018di ko alam ang spelling basta \u2018yun! Hindi ko naman birthday eh pero parang piyesta talaga. Noong una nga, hindi ko pa alam kung para saan lahat ng ito, pero nung nakita ko ang malinis at nakasampay kong uniform, doon ko lang naalala na ngayong araw pala ang pagtatapos ko sa nursery. Marami akong nakuhang medalya\u2014ginto, pilak, at tanso. Malabundok din ang regalo na natanggap ko mula sa aking mga tito at tita. Gagalingan ko pa lalo sa susunod na taon para mas marami akong matanggap. Sabi nga ng teacher ko eh, sobrang talino ko raw. Aba, syempre, ako ang pinakamagaling sa buong mundo! Hunyo 15, 2007 Bagong lugar, bagong buhay! Kumusta ka na, diary? Pasensya ka na ha, alam ko na-miss mo ako. Kararating lang namin dito sa apartment na titirahan namin dito sa Bacolod. Ilang oras din ang byahe, hindi ko inakalang sobrang layo pala! Dito kasi mag-aaral ng kolehiyo si kuya, kaya nagdesisyon sina mama\u2018t papa na dito na lang din kami para hindi siya maging malungkot. Nakakatakot dahil sobrang dami ng tao. Hindi ako sanay. Sana may makilala akong mga bagong kaibigan. Bukas, pupunta kami sa bago kong eskwelahan, malapit lang siya dito sa amin. Naghahanda na rin ako kasi sa susunod na linggo, pasukan na namin. Nagbabasa na uli ako ng libro, \u2018tsaka inaral ko ulit yung multiplication table, nahihirapan kasi ako roon \u2018tsaka pinapalo rin kasi ako ni mama kapag nagkakamali ako. Ang sakit kaya pero okay lang \u2018pag hanger, hindi masyadong masakit. 59","Marso 5, 2008 Paano kaya \u2018to? Malungkot ako ngayon. Hindi ko masabi kay mama na hindi ako ang top 1 ngayong taon. Tiyak magagalit \u2018yun pag sinabi kong top 3 lang ako. Hindi ko naman masisisi si Christopher \u2018tsaka si April Rose kasi matatalino rin naman sila. Ginawa ko naman ang makakaya ko, eh mas matalino lang talaga sila. Tapos, tatlong medalya lang \u2018yung nakuha ko ngayong taon. Patay talaga ako nito kay mama. Pero hayaan mo na, gagalingan ko na lang sa susunod na taon. Hindi ko alam kung paano ko ito sasabihin sa kanya. Marso 14, 2009 Bahala na! Hindi ko alam kung matutuwa ako o malulungkot sa sinulat ko rito noong nakaraang taon. Gagalingan ko raw dahil top 3 lang ako. Gunggong! Top 5 ka na lang ngayon. Kasalanan \u2018to ni Mary Jane at Shiena eh. Kung hindi lang nila pinapalitan ang mga sagot nila tuwing may pagsusulit, edi sana top 3 pa rin ako. Ang alam ni mama top 4 ako, pero hindi niya alam top 5 talaga ako. Hayaan mo na, malalaman din naman niya mamaya sa recognition. Hindi \u2018yun magagalit kung maraming tao eh. Marso 23, 2013 Anong nangyari sakin? Kakatapos lang ng graduation ceremony namin. Hindi ako masaya dahil hindi rin masaya si mama. Hindi ako napabilang sa top 10 sa katapusan ng eskwela. Ngayong taon pa na gagraduate ako sa elementarya. Hindi ko alam kung ano ang nangyari. Nagbubuklat at nagbabasa naman ako ng libro bawat hapon pagkatapos ng klase, nagpapasa naman ako sa takdang oras, at lagi naman akong pasado sa mga pagsusulit. Pero bakit ganon? Ako na yata ang pinakamangmang sa buong mundo. 60","Abril 15, 2017 Apat na taon na rin ang nakalipas noong huling akyat ko sa entablado para kumuha ng diploma, at ngayong araw, aakyat ulit ako sa pangatlong pagkakataon. Marami na ang nangyari at nagbago sa buhay ko, diary. May masaya at malungkot na bahagi. Syempre, may konting kirot pa rin buhat ng nakaraang pag-akyat ko sa entablado pero masasabi kong hindi na ganun ka grabe tulad ng dati. Siguro, paunti-unti ko na ring natanggap na sadyang may mas magaling lang talaga kaysa sakin. Abril 2, 2021 Nasa kolehiyo na ako ngayon, diary. Masasabi kong hindi oras ang naghilom sa kirot na napagdaanan ko sa loob ng ilang taon. Sa totoo lang, hindi nawala yung kirot, meron pa rin naman, pero hindi na ganun kasakit. Siguro, natuto lang akong mabuhay na may bitbit na hapdi, kaya kapag naaalala ko, hindi na ako naapektuhan ng sobra. Sa bawat pagtiklop ko ng mga pahina, naaalala ko ang dati kong sarili at nagpapasalamat ako sa unti-unting paglaho ng aking pangalan sa mga listahang laging pinapaskil sa harap ng aking inuupuan at sa pa ambon- ambon na medalyang tinatanggap ko bawat taon. Hindi ko inakalang magigising ako sa murang edad. Mapait at masakit, sa totoo lang. Pero kung hindi ako dinala ng aking mga maliliit na yapak sa dambuhalang mundo na ito, siguro medalya na ang umaapak sa buong pagkatao ko. Sige, sa susunod na lang ulit, diary. Tatapusin ko na muna ang mga modules ko. Mahirap na\u2014baka bumagsak pa ako. Endterm pa naman din. 61","thoughts on a carousel ride in reverse. JOSHUA MARTIN GUANCO The linearity of life can sometimes be treated with nonchalance\u2014you progress, you evolve, you age, you move forward. In fact, venturing into tomorrow without the promise of certainty has been a trait embedded in your natural clockwork: you sleep in order to wake up to a new dawn that might not come. It is daunting\u2014knowing that time, for you, may stop its gears just before daylight even lays its lips on your skin. But if only you could see what is past the midnight hour, then you could look forward to a tomorrow devoid of uncertainty. A tomorrow where memories flow backward as you inch yourself forward. It is only then that you would get to see the entire map of your life: the careers that you have taken, the countries that you have crossed, the bus tickets that you have crumpled and kept inside the pockets of your pants, the long sips of coffee you have taken while you were filling some pages of your journal, the clothes that you have outsized, the hangovers you have triumphantly endured, the friends that you have treasured, the bridges that you have burned, the paws that have greeted you every time you went home, the smiles that you have painted, the tears that you have shed, the pain that you have persevered through, the love that you have grown old with\u2014everything. And as these memories ebb against this panorama of your life\u2014on this carousel ride in reverse\u2014you get to witness yourself moving back to your family. You remember home: waking up early for school, playing in the rain, waiting for the breakfast your mother has prepared, having your first toy, your first wound after falling off your bike, your first walk, your first step, your first word, and eventually, your first breath. But all of this is but a yearning of a soul that is traversing to a pending tomorrow. However, always remember this: what you bring with you while treading into the uncertain future is the certainty of the past\u2014 the journey that you have taken since your first act of respiration. Look how far you\u2019ve come. 62","COMICS ART BY MIKEY VINCENT VICENTE","Friendly Delusions ANGELA CORONEL 64","65","66","67","The Monster Inside MIKEY VINCENT VICENTE 68","69","70","71","Weight CARL HASON GERALE 72","73","74","SCRIBES AND SCRIBBLERS Illustrations by Alexandra Bachoco Angela Coronel Christian Dominic Ledesma Jaziel Ann Seballos Mikey Vincent Vicente Words by Carl Hason Gerale Hana Patricia Raj Hautea Immalie Rose Cafifge Kristine Rodriguez Bayadog Krizzia Ricci Nepomuceno Lance Christian Juarez Paula Mae Villarosa 75","76","77","78","79","1. Kristine Rodriguez Bayadog (Trapeze) A trapeze hangs boldly at the center of a tent\u2014seemingly judging in its idle state. Locals say it was once owned by a Filipina warrior who invented a fighting style of mid-air swinging and physical combat. Passed down through generations, this legendary tool never once swung for any man it deems unworthy despite the number of scars on its surface, engraved by time. Now, it poses a great challenge to performers and audiences alike to try and bear the weight of its flight. 2. Jaziel Ann Seballos (Unicyclist) Looking down from a penrose path of a single wheel makes the race more perilous with every cycle\u2014she knows this by heart. So without a glance at the huddling audience below, focus on the labyrinthine tightrope, she takes one deep breath. And with years of mastery grappled with all her might, she pedals like no one ever could. Like no one ever did. 3. Paula Mae Villarosa (Tightrope Walker) An abrupt hush falls over the circus goers as the famed wirewalker takes her stance. Poised and precise, she toes the precarious rope one meticulous step at a time, reaching the other end with a deceivingly natural ease. Her body trembling, she breathes a heavy sigh of relief\u2014 not for her safe travels, but for yet another successful act. 4. Ferry Lyra Fronda (Escape Artist) \u201cI doubt you\u2019ll escape from that!\u201d a man yells before the air erupts with the buzzing of doubt. As she swings upside-down from a 30-foot drop, everything looks different\u2014the audience, the sky, the boldness she exudes, and the distance to the ground from where she hangs. And in one fell swoop, the sleeves of her straitjacket dangle beside her head as the chains on her legs screech with the crowd\u2019s applause. 5. Joshua Martin Guanco (Marionette) A wooden, meek-faced boy sits cross-legged on center stage. With the curtains drawn, he waits for his cue as he does every night: without choice. Strings tug, curtains draw, and he waltzes gracefully, but with a facade bleeding of grimace. Though no matter the scowl and disgust, the audience always applauds his dazzling performance. And after a show, he bows begrudgingly and he gets raised above for all to see\u2014crucified, hung, but still alive. 80","6. Edward Timothy Nubla (Human Cannonball) A hollow metal cylinder is arced to the heavens, angled just enough to hit the bullseye. A figure grabs hold of the lengthy fuse at the cannon\u2019s rear and nonchalantly lights it with a match. Gasps can be heard as the man walks along the girthy muzzle of the machine and settles himself inside. Locked and loaded. A needle drops as the fuse disappears and\u2014kaboom. He tumbles into the air with ash and dust, flipping and slicing through the smoke, only to land perfectly on the spotlight, arms out. Applause. 7. Trizia Hassim (Magician) She dazzled the crowds with her tricks and acts\u2014pulling out gigantic rabbits from the smallest hats, levitating bodies without strings, and waving away stones to return them as golden rings. Everyone said she mastered sorcery, some say she merely perfected smoke and mirrors. But one thing was certain, her illusions could fool just about anyone\u2014even herself. 8. Angela Coronel (Knife Thrower) The spotlight graces a petite figure with her back to the oversized target. She taps the tip of a knife, waiting for her cue. A steadily incrementing drumbeat matches her chest and a smile creeps out to nibble on a poorly wrapped blindfold. The drums cease and, in a split second, she turns 180 and hurls the blade perfectly into the bullseye. To her, surprise is an insult. 9. Fall Guy 2837 (Ringmaster) All eyes fall on the madman at center stage. Absorbed by his reality, he wields absurdity with his left hand and orchestrates chaos with his right. In the spontaneous combustion of the show, Tchaikovsky\u2019s Overture climaxes as pure nihilism becomes the grandiose punchline. 10. Angel Taruballes (Circus Ring of Fire) I do not breathe fire. I am fire. I do not walk among the crowd, I am the center of it. I stand naked and ablaze, waiting for an unsuspecting prey to set aflame. I worship no one, but no one dares not honor me. Predators like tigers and lions, and even its tamers are afraid to get through me. Because although I portray beauty\u2014I scream chaos. 81","11. Rodney Jarder Jr. (Juggler) Once the moon reaches its peak, the circus scurries towards the red tent at the far end of the carnival to see the great Juggler himself, with nimble grip catching balls, knives, and flaming rings. He turned heads and raised brows from all sides in wonder and dismay. Yet he\u2019d simply bow and say, \u201cNo trouble, it\u2019s all part of the job.\u201d 12. Christian Dominic Ledesma (Sword Swallower) Despite his eyes pointed to the heavens, the carny arranges a meeting with the deity below. His last sight is the hilt of the sword drawing parallels to Christ as a shiny metal blade hovers above the tongue, greets the soft tissue of the epiglottis, and then settles for small talk with the narrow hall of the esophagus. Just the usual near-life experience. 13. Mikey Vincent Vicente (Clown) The cherry-nosed jester dilly-dallies through the myriad of carnies and commoners. Suddenly, a cherub doll in red approaches and virtuously meets his gaze. Delving into the thick layers of his polka-dot waistcoat, she left him aghast from the words that fell off her innocent lips: \u201cAre you really happy?\u201d He quivered in response\u2014facade shattering into pieces. 14. Steve Louise (Stilt Walker) Unbeknownst to the commoners, the lumbering stilt walker wagers his limbs on the daily. People pause to marvel at his towering height; the ease at which he maneuvers the artificial extensions of his legs but not the odd angles of his wrists or the permanent red scarring of his ankles. Whenever his moment of glory slips away, they are quick to amble along\u2014leaving behind a man suspended in the air, cursed to never touch the ground. 15. Bakemono (Plate Spinner) Crash! Shards of fancy ceramics flew to the ground, facing the broken end for the nth time. Fumbling over the gyroscopic play of turning circles atop sturdy sticks, they breathe in exhaustion. Their small palms glistened with sweat and red patches, lingering like a tattoo of languor. \u201cUntil when?\u201d\u2014a long pause. Along with their train of thoughts, a melody came about: Janta; dine; an all-time favorite. 82","16. polaris (Contortionist) Careless of the risks that might come his way, no one dares stop him (nor bend him) from being the only thing that makes him him\u2014a respected shapeshifter. He blends and breaks and bends with anything. The contortionist is said to have lived shorter because he\u2019s quite Death\u2019s favorite plaything. 17. Krizzia Ricci Nepomuceno (Firebreather) In her meek silence, her flames boast an inferno as she engulfs the crowd in a tangerine glow. Unbeknownst to some, her fiery role lives post-performance. Behind hanging tarpaulins and under a dim light, she straddles across an opponent, heating up the checkered board amid a sweat-breaking game of chess, rapid calculations sizzling opponents into a corner until\u2014Mate. 18. Drexel John Amit (Ventriloquist) Deception. It is what he was born for (and what he will die for). The very thing that he is good at is amusing his audience with make-believe stories and fabricated play of words using a mere puppeteered figure. The facade is not similar to what is behind it. Illusion, pretense, fraud\u2014the things he mastered from two weeks\u2019 worth of training. And yet, his guests still think he is genuine. 19. Joshua Mahilum (Strongman) Ferocious screams reverberate like a wrathful behemoth as he readily hoisted the stupendously heavy barbells, resisting gravity. He\u2019d never lift anything less than a ton, hence smithereens of his untamed heart are too much to carry for his fingers are unused to emptiness. The strongman\u2019s fractured strength frizzed in the shadows set to crash under the black weight of living. 20. Kynah Rhea Fuentes (Rollercoaster) \u201cIt happened again, didn\u2019t it?\u201d \u201cWhat do you think, kid?\u201d The groggy popcorn vendor mustered enough self-control to keep his trap shut as he and the guard stared at the strange situation before them: a rollercoaster cart carrying pretty dolls in its seats, with floors littered with isaw sticks after another night of strange disappearance. 83","21. Kerguelen Montales (Horror Train) Amid the shrill screeches that emanated from the skull-decorated tunnel, a lone passenger struggled to hold in a smile. Careful to avoid the elongated rubber fingers creeping towards his side, his eyes wandered around the dimly-lit set, nodding at the diligent work put into the production. Smiling freely now, he settled back into his uncomfortable seat relishing the vibe as total chaos ensued in his surroundings. 22. Keilah Baldomar (Fun Slide) \u201cDid you say there\u2019s a slide here? Why is that even at a carnival\u2014 that sounds so boring! ...Oh, it\u2019s a giant slide? Like, a really big, colorful one? ...Well, that\u2019s still boring. I don\u2019t know who\u2019d want to ride that when all these other rides exist. Let\u2019s go!\u201d \u201cOkay, I couldn\u2019t get it out of my mind. Come with me to the giant slide?\u201d 23. Immalie Rose Cafifge (Bumper Cars) Silence. Time bides for the kid at the driver\u2019s seat as her fingers drum repeatedly against the chafed rubber of the steering wheel. Her feet sweat, her hands grow clammy every second, and her patience stretches into the thinnest thread. Silence... Buzz! A bumper car is sent rocketing backwards, with another kid screaming bloody murder on a Sunday evening. 24. Kiara Nicole Villa (Ferris Wheel) Circus-goers sighed as she spun on her rusty hinges at the heart of the square. From moonrise to moonset, she twirls to her own scratched tune despite the lack of passengers who dare venture near her gravity. Though tarnished by her years, her every turn was still as grand as it was\u2014hastening her turn, pivoting, pausing in mid-air just enough for the few valiant pairs to graze the horizons above. 25. Meryl Sigaton (Shooting Gallery) Shuddering fingers tightly gripped the gun handle, skeptical of hitting the target prize meters away from where the gunman stands. \u201cAha!\u201d she beams, trading the bull\u2019s eye with her holy grail. 84","Yet even with the bullets\u2019 pummeling, she remained motionless, enthused by his desire to amass her luxury in a chamber of souvenirs. 26. Karl Brian Marqueza (Viking Ship) A Viking ship may be the most grandiose vessel one will ever encounter in a perya. As it swings back and forth in the air with sleek, swift motion, the only thing that keeps playing in your head is this: Hold on for dear life. It\u2019s as if the air and the ship formed an indispensable union to transport the troop, but never to lead them to a certain stop. 27. Phoebe Daidoji Jabonete (Popcorn Stall) Clusters of three-dimensional white puffs overfill her silver pot as a palm rests against the see-through glass. \u201cMommy, what\u2019s poppin\u2019?\u201d asks the boy, tugging at his mother\u2019s dress. Striped in yellow and red, the label popcorn laid bare on the front view. \u201cA kernel\u2019s acrobatic stunt is the carnival\u2019s euphoria,\u201d she replies in a wistful tone. 28. Hana Patricia Raj Hautea (Cotton Candy Stall) Around the circus\u2019 entrance, a small, unmanned cart is seen enthusiastically rolling towards customers. Curious passersby marvel at the mobile stall, seemingly undecided on who to approach first. Though once engaged, it offers a puff of cotton candy as welcome. And even before one tastes the sweetness of the first swirl, another purple cloud greets them eagerly. 29. scythe (The High Striker) A mix of sweat, aftershave, and brandy wafted the evening breeze as boys and men lined up to challenge their strength on the High Striker. But no matter how strong they pounded the lever, the puck remained unmoving and so, they believed it rigged. Yet, when a patron comes bounding\u2014tirelessly pushing his luck, He gives to the victor who caught whiff of his game despite his own bouquet. 30. birdy (Merry-go-round) The ride moves on and on and on, but the view knew not of such physics. Frustrated, the young child fidgets atop her wooden saddle, eyes peeled for even the slightest change in scenery\u2014only 85","to frown at the same people in the same places doing the same things. She shrugs, decides instead to shut her eyes, and revels in the steady motions of the carousel as it moves on and on and on. 31. Alexandra Bachoco (Globe String Lights) \u201cA string of warmly lit glass bulbs keeps a wooden pie stall company each passing day and night, swaying languidly to the chilly breeze that meanders through the whirlwind scene of the fair. In its inanimate silence, the piemaker claims to have found a listener and a friend.\u201d \u2014Folktales from the Local Fair Vol. III 32. Inocencio John Keith Ferrer V (Ring Toss) \u201cAt a carnival, the ring toss involves a very small ring being tossed onto a very small peg, which reduces the opportunity for success\u2014 even for adults!\u201d \u2014Great Games for Young Children 33. Angelo Despi (Octopus) Far too many have come and gone, yet only a select few townspeople understand the workings of the seemingly harmless Octopus. Often understated, it takes but a few prompt spins before your head starts spinning until all you can see are stars. Take it from the carny regulars\u2014the adrenaline rush lingers \u2018til the next time. 34. Ivee Manguilimotan (Swing Ride) Crowds swarm the lined barricades as they jostle to witness one of the wildest spectacles in the whole fair: a chair-o-plane spinning a bag of potato crackers, a feasibility study, local rum, managerial works, and the fast-paced life in its suspended seats. How it does it, no one knows. 35. Hezron Pios (Bed of Nails) While the carnies do their tricks and bow before an audience, the true oddballs play show and tell amid the candy stalls and peculiar rides. In the hearty presentation, an attraction is beheld under a worn curtain. An upright wooden frame symmetrically littered with pointed nails greets the audience\u2014an invitation to voluntary paralysis. Scripture is written on its base, and the only way to read? Come up real close. 86","36. Patrick Billojan (Ticket Booth) Amidst the rush of the circus, patrons came and went at the Ticket Booth, yet not one soul stopped to tarry. They merely handed in gold for tickets and tokens before going their way. In the blur of everything, he\u2019d surely catch your eye. Not because he was lonely but because he still flickered his huge neon sign\u2014hounding in townspeople to come join the celebration, knowing he\u2019d be left behind. 37. Alan Villanueva Jr. (Roulette) If you happen to pass by me, call the deities to bid you good luck, for no one shall dare only pass and not submit to my never-ending game of chances. I will sup the life out of every single penny you drop on my table, and I will make sure you go home broke. 38. Alvin Legario (Dunk Tank) Just a few paces away from the ticket booth, lay the worn and faded wooden facade of the Dunk Tank. Its hinges rusted, its screws loose, yet its seat remained rooted in place, holding up the scrawny fella who seemed to bask in the stillness of its pool. As throngs came and went without but sparing it a glance, a lad of five, fiddles with a dust-coated red ball before it. He eyes its target, steeling himself. Chubby arms winding up, he flicks his wrist, and deafening splash rips throughout the fair. 39. Alyssa Nicole Maquiran (Clairvoyant) The visions dart a path behind her temples, hands clutching the fingers of a man who seeks erudition, an epiphany. \u201cWhat does the future entail for me?\u201d he asks as she stares at him through the curtains of a draped marquee. At first, she is hesitant to speak, but when clouds from his iris clear, she smiles softly at the imminent cataclysm that she sees. 40. Carl Hason Gerale (A Burning Tent) Fingers twitching, the madman shakily brings the chipped ceramic cup to his mouth, paying no heed to the blazing heat and plumes of smoke surrounding his person. He takes a long sip of coffee before proceeding to stare vacantly at an indistinct point in the distance. Some say he could be heard convincing himself to stay. Others say he started the fire himself. 87","ACK N WLEDGEMENTS Pau, Nong Hez, Nong Alvin, Dizney, for your wisdom that reminded me to anticipate the diverging path ahead as much as I marveled at the spectacles that have passed before me. Your insights have been the thrill that cheered my trudging through the meandering Wiles. And for that, I am forever honored and grateful. Lance, Tin, for being the ones that shared the head-spinning, topsy- turvy ride in unraveling this conundrum with me. Without your perfectly timed frenzy of ideas, the lights and the blurs would have been enough to spellbind me into believing stagnancy. Ferry, Immalie, Krizzia, for lending me your vision in plotting the course of this folio against every twist and turn and misconceptions that came with the finding. Jaziel, Jella, Chris, Alex, for your unfettered imagination that captured the tiniest speck of sparkle to the kaleidoscopic colors of that very fair. How you conjured the bliss, the blues, and the riddles of the place through your art will always astound me. Marq, Keilah, Angelo, Ino, Phoebe, for every scene and motion that you eternalized with every deliberate shot throughout the escape from the dreamscape. Your works, like mirrors, are reflections of your surreal passion and dedication to the creation of this folio. 88","Mikey, for your foresight that guided every instance of lucidity to settle and reveal this grand act of rousing within the bounds of this book. Ibee, Kynah, Hana, for teaching me the tricks to keeping on when the horror began its unwelcome descent once again. Your constant reassurances will perpetually rival those who perceive the days to come, words bigger than the ill omens spoken by these trying times. Meriene, Patriz, Chua, Kri, for being the crucial weight that grounded me as I juggled life and sanity in continuity. The stakes were high in every toss and catch, but your constant support made for a portion of my strength to persist until the end. To our beloved families, for being the ones that demonstrated the ways to shadow our dreams and defy the daze. Your unwavering guidance will always be our most genuine applause. And to all our contributors, for mustering the courage to have your tales and musings take center stage in this folio of rattling questionings, opportune awakenings, and destined departures. May this daring act of seeing past the magical charades and denying the familiar beckoning of the Wiles follow you as you venture out to a world even bigger than our perception. 89",""]
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