["P H O T O BY AR C H EL B AR AYO G A 41","Shadow Self LEX DIWA ALORO There\u2019s a kink in my shadow: it stands while I lie down, it takes a step while I follow still flattened on the ground. They prefer my shadow better, it is perfect\u2014pitch black. I pale in comparison to its darkness, merely trailing behind its tracks. My shadow leads the tango; it dances better than I do. People say it pirouettes while I stumble to the blues. Oh, the renown it garnered from gushing crowds impressed by gold! They cheer when my silhouette romps nearby in steps so bold. My shadow is a giant, it\u2019s the first thing they see. And though I cast my shadow, it still overshadows me. There\u2019s a kink in my shadow: it sits heavy on my chest. Serves me right for casting shadows so much bigger than myself. 42 P O E T R Y","TENEBRISM P H O T O BY A NG E LO F. DE SPI 43","Ores of Entropy GUILLOTINE Nested between valleys and fields, a cave\u2019s maw denies light to be its visitor. Caves know only depths: a continuous weaving of pathways similar to Yggdrasil in reverse. The surface remains oblivious to the gravel empire it shelters. A figure appears four yards north of the cavern\u2014the Miner has come on time once more. With a pickaxe on his left hand and a torch on his right, he greets the cave\u2019s gloom like an old friend. He ventures in and the grotto welcomes him with the smell of moist rock and granite. Running his fingers along coarse walls, he feels the jaggedness of the stone\u2014rough, erratic curves like the outline of dry ribs on his fingertips. He hastens his pace, recalling the task at hand. After a few turns, he raises his torch towards an odd path in the mine. Something was wrong. The path forward is narrower than his last trek, the air too thin\u2014he hasn\u2019t seen this area at all. Perhaps it was a path he had just discovered, he thought. But he\u2019d never noticed this so close to the entrance. He gapes half confused but half intrigued at the void before him. The mine he thought he knew felt ominous for the first time in a long time. Despite this, as the wind brushes his ears\u2014near whispering\u2014the unknown felt inviting, as if trying to gain his trust. He grips his pickaxe and continued. More time slips by as he treads uncharted earth and in his next turn, he senses something\u2014a silent, near unnoticeable rumbling. The possibility of a quake terrified him, even though the rumbling didn\u2019t seem to exist. The ground felt static; the walls unmoving. A puddle of water to the left of his feet remains undisturbed. The Miner dismisses it and bores himself deeper. 44 F I C T I O N","Eventually, he exits into a hollow chamber, much more open than the previous branches. His torch is raised to gauge height but to no avail. In the midst of his awe at the yawning dark, he senses a definite pulsation around the chamber\u2019s rock every few seconds. A sort of earthly heartbeat envelops the entirety of the grotto. \t Walking blindly amongst unfamiliar terrain, the lulls inside the walls lead him to a glowing tint of red a few meters away. He moves forward, the waves matching his pace. After approaching cautiously, he meets the source of the glowing. The Miner stood in front of a red stone. Upon scanning the surrounding rock, he saw the pulsations emanate all around the crimson core. He stares at the heart of the oddity and it returns his gaze. He steps forward to meet it, he feels a tremor under his feet. Daring not to strike it with his pickaxe, he reaches out in curiosity. Slowly. Carefully. His finger comes into contact and a thunderous shockwave shoves him to his knees. His eyes follow the path of the crackling wave upward and it resembles the back of a gargantuan maggot. The ceiling remains void, yet to be seen. The floor quakes and he realizes the chamber is now borderless. With the surrounding rock see-through and crystalline, he beholds a myriad of cave branches all around him. A complex of pathways replace the floor beyond comprehension. He\u2019s never seen again. F I C T I O N 45","Grey linings HANA PATRICIA RAJ E. HAUTEA Akin to a thief in the night, It snatches your most precious possessions. Merciless, the villain strikes\u2014 With no thought for your flimsy walls Akin to an experienced outlaw It leavs naught in its wake. Nothi g but the wisp of yesterdy and the bud of tomorrow Akin to an established asassin, It is a veteran, clever and skilled Selfish, it leeches onto anot er passion\u2014 Until y u dont notice whats disappeared Akn to a totalitarian monarchy, Time marches itsown path drunk w th the alcoholofauthority evento oblige is desrving of Death 46 P O E T R Y","PHOTO BY KARL BRIAN T. MARQUEZA 47","Beneath the Sheets ANGELA A. CORONEL 48 C O M I C","Unclean Thoughts \u6a59 Dirty is not the oscillation that slices through the fabric of air. Dirty is the word she hurled without a care. Dirty: that\u2019s what she thinks of me. Dirty\u2014she thinks I took her for granted. Dirty. It\u2019s alright, I accept. Dirty. I can forgive, but I can\u2019t forget. Dirty: not just my clothes but also my ways. Dirty\u2014I might have gone astray. Dirty, I wish this stain will not last. P O E T R Y 49","Ang Pang-ulihi nga Panihapon STARLENE JOY B. PORTILLO Dali di, langga. Pahuway na sa sulod payag. Pasulhayon ta ang kakapoy nga imo ginabatyag. Gani, yari nagluto ako sing aton kalan-on gikan sa karne nga ginbilin sing amay mo sa\u2019ton. Pabay-i lang da ang naimpon nga kuko. Ang tinadtad nga unod, usapa lang sing maayo. May pagkalanit, pagkalangto ang sabor nga pinasahi. Indi na pagtigan-i si Tatay\u2014indi na siya makapuli. 50 P O E T R Y","P HO TO BY KA RL BR I AN T. MA RQUE ZA 51","ignis fatuus PAU VILLAROSA i shift my weight; one foot to another, fiddling with the bouquet of white roses in my hand as the doors creak open\u2014 my heart quickens and my breath hitches as i hear a slight rustling behind me\u2014 i focus my gaze towards the end of the aisle. a tear trickles from my (wide) eye, my heart steels as i lock gaze with no one. beads of sweat trickle down my (creased) forehead as i turn around with shaking hands. their stares drill themselves into me\u2014 piercing my trembling frame. the milieu before me spirals along with my whole being\u2014 pitch black. i\u2019m wide awake\u2014that i knew yet my mother\u2019s quarters is filled with phantoms, her laments dulling in my ears. i no longer know if i\u2019m awake or still in deep slumber\u2014 slowly slipping away. she (repeatedly) struck me\u2014 ripping my sanity bit by bit spreading it far from my reach yet the anguish did me more damage. 52 P O E T R Y","they (tightly) held me down\u2014 constricting any life inside my retching form yet nothing but wrath wailed within me. He fled\u2014he left you standing there, alone. He tricked you, embarrassed you in front of your kin and you still pine away for that fool?! i looped it in my mind, swallowed it down my throat, and lashed it in my gut. She left you here\u2014alone, she never loved you! She knew but she let you walk straight into it\u2014alone! it echoed in my ears, prickled my skin and shivered down my spine; curdling whatever blood left in my veins. it\u2019s stifled but it rung above the chaos. (maybe) it\u2019s a mirage\u2014 i reach out, following your lead. it\u2019s fleeting, swift, (maybe) i grazed against your warm fingertips yet (maybe) i missed it. letting the torrents stream down my eyes blurring my vision, tightening my chest, Salvacion. closing my lids skidding gently into a darker void\u2014 Vicente. P O E T R Y 53","54 PH OT O BY I NOCE NCI O JOH N K E I TH V. FER R ER V","The Cleansing HEZRON G. PIOS My father unclenches the mop, takes off his Sandugo flip-flops when flood surges afresh to tinker the dream sequence: we attempt to walk on water just as how Jesus once walked on water, unflinching. Cracks slither on the walls like lintik from Tisoy\u2019s ferocity while prayers lack the might to conjure mother\u2019s spectre seated at the long table. Anger only begets greater anger\u2014 this I reckon as heat and dust from Doha have gobbled up years of desiring good terms. The water\u2019s at par with the ceiling. Everything floats except the ones that were barely touched with completion. We splinter the jalousies. Outside, the neighborhood is breathing underwater, and unafraid. Would subsiding arrive? This expanse of blue likens to an apt fullness. We decide to retire in this resolve. P O E T R Y 55","Blame me, a woman STARLENE JOY PORTILLO I. The first tea party I had was with a sixth grader. I was all of four years old, sprawled out on the lawn under the shade that his towering frame cast across me from our makeshift table. Nothing about that afternoon was worth noting, until he decided he no longer liked tea. From there, it was all a fast-paced blur: chasing a yellow butterfly, tickling, wobbly piggyback rides, tickling until my sides hurt, being shrouded by sheets hanging on a clothesline, tickling until I felt the need to gasp for sentiments I didn\u2019t know the words to. The last thing I remembered thinking was how D\u2019s chubby finger resembled a Wiggles marshmallow against the hem of my underwear as I sat on his lap. Later that night, Mother told me that I can only ever have tea parties with her, instead. II. My cheeks were ensnared between the principal\u2019s clammy grip. She squeezed hard enough to parse my lips, but not the answers. The shy bruise under my chin juts out just enough to taunt her. \u201cYou were punched because you kicked his privates first,\u201d she sentenced, hoarse and final. She cut out the part where P raised my uniform skirt over my head. III. A Name exists outside a word outside itself. Car honks, starved gazes, whispers of intent\u2014they all contend with me. 56 E S S A Y","IV. I rode a cab to school once, and the driver asked me if I were a virgin. I pretended not to hear, but he took my silence as a yes, suggesting that nights get cold, and women\u2014lonely. When he kept trying to adjust the rearview mirror in the hopes of meeting my gaze, I started thinking of ways to envelope myself while I staged the courage to jump out of the car. As if on cue, however, it came to a halt across the school gate. \u201cKeep the change,\u201d I stuttered, when his hands tried to burn my denim, parting skin from sin. It lingered long enough to silence me. V. An afternoon three calendars ago, J asked C what rape culture meant. Rape is too harsh a word, I recall him phrasing, to describe any and every perpetrating deed. But then again, isn\u2019t it harshest done than said? E S S A Y 57","Scribes & Scribblers Illustrations by Andrea Danielle A. Gamboa Angela A. Coronel Anna Theresa S. Parayno Carl Hason T. Gerale Christian Dominic L. Ledesma Earl John B. Pabular Kiara Nicole D. Villa Words by Alvin Brian S. Legario Hana Patricia Raj E. Hautea Lance Christian M. Juarez Paula Mae E. Villarosa 58","59","60","61","62","63","Ms. Jean Patindol (The World) A dynamic union between the spiritual and physical, the Self and Other, balance and evolution\u2014all encompassed in one woman. She symbolizes the undisturbed harmony amongst the energies and is wrapped in fulfillment, success, and infinity. Finally at the peak of wholeness, she has forged resilience against life\u2019s sourer lemons and merely basks in the afterglow of her hard-earned triumphs. Watch out: she\u2019s unstoppable now. Lance Christian Juarez (Judgement) In a constant period of awakening, he faces his last judgement every moment. He is aware that in order to understand, to grow, it is vital to see beyond and stretch your arms out to the call of the universe. All choices, no matter how miniscule, have an irreversible mark on the pages you author, and so he considers every detail with a measured meticulousness. Everything may seem black and white, but his reflections have led him to see all the varying shades of gray in between. Hana Patricia Raj Hautea (The Sun) In the middle of the pueblo, a woman clad in white silk skips her way back to the palace after spending the day with the timawa. They know her in their own ways: an exchange of laughter outside the tavern, quick gossip by the inns, small talk in the barangay\u2014to them she is sunshine incarnate. She hums to herself, quickly noting the agenda for the night, though blissfully unaware of the dozens of flowers sprouting in her trail. Paula Mae Villarosa (The Moon) Finding an open field, she laid down. The witch cared little for the dew seeping through her dress nor the chirping of crickets in the distance. She gazed at the moon in awe, doe-eyed and silent. Pursing her lips, she marveled at the unlimited power it must have, not realizing she was staring at her own reflection. Starlene Joy Portillo (The Star) The foot in water reminiscent of spiritual capabilities and inner strength, the other on land symbolizing her practical abilities. This Aquarius is a nurturer, guarded by thought and nourished with love. She is abundantly blessed by the universe, but it may not be apparent as of now. First, she is in need of courage and faith to appreciate all that she really has; all that she really is. 64","Shan Marc Jabagat (The Tower) \u201cBurn it,\u201d the chieftain commands, gazing towards the horizon. \u201cB-but sir they\u2014\u201d \u201cAll of it,\u201d he asserts, eyes now primed on the soldier. \u201cNothing must remain to build anew.\u201d He slowly steps forward to the raging inferno engulfing what he once called home. Alvin Brian Legario (Death) He was an enigma. No one knew where he came from, where he went about during the day, nor where he\u2019d turn in at night. They say he came to these parts after escaping the clutches of the Datu\u2019s henchmen and started afresh under a new name. Some say that he was a voyager looted by pirates\u2014forcing him to take refuge here, plotting his next course. No one had the nerve to come up to him, much less ask if any of them were true. He never spoke for himself, never tried correcting the stories to mere townspeople. He\u2019d smirk after overhearing gossip from conversations in the alleyways, and sometimes (if I remember correctly), he\u2019d meet their stares and offer them a small smile. If they only knew. Ma. Kristine Joy Bayadog (Temperance) \u201cAgain,\u201d she persisted. \u201cA-are you sure, dayang? I\u2019m not cer-certain if\u2014\u201d She cut him off with a stare that pierced through him. \u201cThis is my last resort, Lakan.\u201d Beads of sweat were now accompanied by slow rising tears. \u201cNo more wondering if the cup is half full or half empty. Tonight I\u2019ll fill it to the brim. AGAIN!\u201d Joshua Mahilum (The Hanged Man) Bound by choice, he knows best that sacrifices are ultimately key to progress, to moving forward. He forms a triangle of passion, composure, and intelligence while dangling on a tree meant to be deep-rooted in the underworld while simultaneously sustaining the heavens. Always in a state of waiting and suspension, The Hanged Man is not wasting his time; he is simply biding it. Ivee Manguilimotan (Justice) \u201cI-I did my best, sir. I truly did,\u201d the maid whimpered. \u201cThat\u2019s a shite thing to say as yer last words,\u201d the executioner quipped as he raised his axe. 65","Karl Brian Marqueza (The Hermit) \u201cYou drive a hard bargain, boy,\u201d the tradesman scoffs. The merchant, clad in worn-out cloth retorts, \u201cI\u2019ll toss a coin for it.\u201d Moments later, the trader leaves disgruntled and empty-handed. Only one of them knew how much fortune a weighted coin held. Andrea Danielle Gamboa (Strength) The metal clanged as she searched frantically. Her hound bristled as the signal bell rang. Amidst the chaos, she made a decision. \u201cUgh, I\u2019m wearing a crop top today.\u201d Gerico Guanco (The Chariot) Amid desert sandstorms, a traveler aboard his caravan treks the canyons, driven by his steeds. He dons a pair of sunglasses, primarily to guard his eyes from the harsh sands, but secretly to hide his eyebags. Angela Coronel & Christian Dominic Ledesma (The Lovers) In the epicenter of a thunderous coliseum, the king\u2019s host announces the next fight. A rusted, metal gate lifts to allow entrance to two warriors: a barbarian and a valkyrie. They both raise their brow, and without warning, the masses cheer for onslaught. The boy throws his axe only to be outmaneuvered while the girl charges at him, aiming her spear. As the two clash, the barbarian sidesteps her weapon but gets tackled to the ground, her hand around his throat. The crowd roars. They both smirk. Anna Theresa Parayno (The Wheel of Fortune) Surrounded by a plethora of symbolic creatures, each of them are indispensable to the card. An expert with the changing tides, she is aware that no one can evade the inevitable, so what else is there to do but take it in stride? She may find herself rising high or falling low, but it surely won\u2019t last for too long as the Wheel of Fortune always turns. Alan Villanueva Jr. (The Hierophant - reversed) \u201cWe\u2019ll scale mount Kalaon, steal the weapon of the Gods, plunge headfirst into Kasanan, and finally cross the fields of Makka.\u201d \u201cIsn\u2019t the shortest route via a one-way jeepney ride?\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cSo shouldn\u2019t we\u2014\u201d \u201cNo.\u201d 66","Hezron Pios (The Emperor) He gazed out from his balcony towards his people\u2014all was well, he thought to himself. He took a step back and traipsed towards the great hall that led to his throne, eyes wandering the portraits lining the wall. His gaze affixed itself on a particular drawing of himself when he was a mere boy\u2014a smile illuminating his whole face as he swung himself to and fro on a hammock. He let out a breath he hadn\u2019t realized he was holding and averted his attention to his throne. Katherine Co (The Empress) A Lyrebird was looking intently at a nearby nest as newly born eagle chicks chirped in hunger. Not soon after, the mother eagle arrived with odd-looking straws in its beak. Not wanting to be outdone, the Lyrebird collected nearby straws from trees and began violently pecking at its own young. Inocencio John Keith Ferrer V (The Magician) One well-placed blow to the jaw sent him careening to the dirt once more. \u201cStay down, we only want your piece of land.\u201d For the third time, he stood up, brushed off his trousers, and smiled. \u201cI can do this all day.\u201d Martini Falco (Ace of Wands) A magician sits impatiently before the council of elders. \u201cSo why am I here again?\u201d he asks, half-annoyed. \u201cYou\u2019re on trial for the murder of eight men using forbidden magic,\u201d the judge looms over him, gavel in hand, \u201cWhat is your defense, wizard?\u201d Expressionless, the sorcerer replies, \u201cI was bored.\u201d Carl Hason Gerale (Page of Wands) Blessed with curiosity and a never-ending supply of ideas, there\u2019s so much potential that lies within the Page of Wands. A wide-eyed dreamer, he sees new horizons to explore and new opportunities to grasp, yet he hesitates. It may be due to inexperience, fear of the unknown, or the fact that he gets easily distracted, but all he needs is a little sip of courage before he can conquer the world. There\u2019s a vast scenery before him\u2014all it\u2019ll take is a single step. 67","Kiara Nicole Villa (Knight of Wands) They were onto her\u2014she knew. But she took her time, strapped on the feathered contraption to her back, and fastened it to her chest. She could hear their boots climbing up the flight of steps towards her. She looked out the window and marveled at the glistening ocean below as the rays pierced through its crashing caps. Closing her eyes, she let herself fall\u2014spreading her arms wide. She granted the sun a kiss upon her bare complexion and let the waves tickle her exposed toes as she flew away\u2014 where the deep blue met the horizons above. Dianne Porras (Ace of Swords) Her father\u2019s advisers seated themselves, plump and emblazoned with their jewels and gold. They held their gazes high towards the crown perched on her head as she took the helm of the table, easing down on the seat. She crossed her hands in front of her, \u201cLet us begin, my good sirs.\u201d \u6a59 (Three of Swords - reversed) It started with a light drizzle at noon; she hadn\u2019t minded it at first. She went along her way delivering her hen\u2019s eggs \u2018round the village. The downpour came a little later as she plodded through potholes on her way home. A passerby took notice of her, pointing to her soiled cloak and muddied sandals, \u201cWould you like a shade?\u201d She paused and glanced at the Samaritan, looking down at her whipped state. \u201cIt\u2019s quite alright, it\u2019ll dry off,\u201d she replied and continued her trek homewards. Keilah Baldomar (Page of Swords) Enthusiastic and playful, she exudes a thrumming energy wherever her wandering feet take her. She\u2019s constantly full of questions as her insatiable curiosity and eagerness often lead her to wonder. And with the wheels of her brain always turning, her mind may tend to work faster than her mouth. But do not be fooled\u2014this adolescent is one who grasps at her sword unwaveringly, smirking as she stares her opponent straight in the eyes. Earl John Pabular (Eight of Pentacles) The artificer\u2019s once dull tent lit up as the sun\u2019s fingers slowly crept within. The hues of orange smeared across his sculpture brought him to tears as he gazed upon it. \u201cNow I am ready for my magnum opus,\u201d he said before throwing his masterpiece in the trash. 68","Patrick Billojan (Knight of Pentacles) Summer had long fled these lands, yet one could still hear the unmistakable sound of plowing out in the coarse plots\u2014day in, day out. But these fields seem to prove themselves barren\u2014sterile for any farmer to harvest crops. Many had abandoned these grounds for toil in town, yet a mere young man remained, tilling the earth alone at his own steady pace. \u201cThe only thing you\u2019ll get from this lump of soot is a coughing fit,\u201d the others would tease. \u201cIt\u2019s alright; it\u2019ll all pay off someday soon.\u201d Alexandra Bachoco (Three of Pentacles) Three virtuosos of artistry were quarrelling about how to begin their shared painting. After squabbling for three hours, a silver hue of light streaked skyward as one of them stroked the first shade. \u201cShall we begin?\u201d she asked as her lips curled. Angelo Despi (Seven of Pentacles) Often toiling in silence, this man is no stranger to fatigue and the other cons of hard, honest work. Always facing forward, he is aware that his efforts will be rewarded in the long term. He has been investing much time and effort into his harvest and is infinitely proud of the fruits of his labor. At long last, his crops are beginning to thrive. Bench Quilantang (Nine of Pentacles) The pencil slowed to a stop in between his fingers\u2014his palm weary from grasping the pencil for too long. He set it down on the table and flipped through the pages of his pad, tracing his calloused fingers on every curve and stroke. He marveled at each sketch, recounting how they came to be before wrapping it tight with parchment and twine. He dropped it off to the scribe in the other tribe, letting his shoulders slump as he did and allowing a smile to creep upon his lips. Kynah Rhea Fuentes (Ace of Cups) Two maidens settled down for tea, turning in for the day. One maiden took the pot and poured her friend some before fixing a cup for herself\u2014filling it nearly to the brim. She stirred sugar in, causing it to overflow from the petite cup. \u201cOh dear, you put in too much sugar!\u201d her friend exclaimed. 69","\u201cOh, that\u2019s quite alright,\u201d she dismissed before taking a sip, unbothered by the spilt tea that pooled in her saucer. \u201cIt tastes better that way.\u201d Archel Barayoga (Four of Cups) He scribbles down on the worn-out pad he had on his lap as the jesters carry on with the show before him\u2014noting every faint fault and missed cue. Sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose, eyes set on the page, and fingers stained with ink. He raises his gaze towards the act before him, \u201cWhere are the performers?\u201d A spectator turns to him, \u201cThey finished moments ago; it appears you missed their piece, sire.\u201d Lex Diwa Aloro (Five of Cups - reversed) The mistress often loses a trinket or two. She\u2019d once misplaced her mother\u2019s ring during one of her evening strolls by the shoreline. \u201cI hadn\u2019t lost it,\u201d she\u2019d argue, \u201cI laid it inside a clam\u2019s shell and buried it in the sand, at the spot where Ina used to watch the sunset.\u201d A necklace of hers had snapped and unclasped from her nape as she jostled in the fields of tall grass behind their hut. \u201cNo, no. I\u2019m certain that I left it in one of my dress pockets.\u201d But it\u2019d seem that the mistress often found them, one way or the other. Maegan Joy Matamoro (Seven of Cups) She waves her hand to the left. \u201cNext,\u201d she mutters, half-awake with her head tilted and resting on her palm. A crowd of sheepish princes line up, waiting their turn to perform. \u201cShe\u2019s been listless\u2014near asleep for days now,\u201d a peasant comments. Later that night, she tiptoes her way to the gardens. \u201cAre you there?\u201d she whispers, keeping her head down. \u201cOf course,\u201d a figure replies. They recede on the same bench and gaze upon the abyss of the night. Joshua Guanco (Eight of Cups) Smooth. Oaky. Tannic. He took a sip from each cup\u2014the liquor brushing against his chapped lips. He never downed a glass, much less savored more than one taste. After each goblet, he\u2019d turn away, reaching for another. \u201cThat\u2019s not it, something\u2019s missing.\u201d Thomas Militante (Ten of Cups) The father chopped firewood and traded them in nearby villages, stopping by the square to chat with village folk. The mother was a seamstress in their side of the country and sometimes made garments for free. The children tended to a horse, two chickens, and a dog in their 70","own accord\u2014running leisurely \u2018round the yard. They\u2019d have porridge, some game, and ale for most meals along with stories and laughter. They didn\u2019t have much, but their little cottage was more than enough. Nash Julio Aurea (Queen of Cups) Everyone came to the seer to remedy ails and seek good fortune. She spoke in verses of prophecies and restored people through her riddles and rhymes\u2014each one taking its toll on her being. From the moment the cock crowed \u2018til the crickets sung their hymn, she\u2019d hear laments and wishes that reflected her own. She\u2019d deliver her foretelling, eager to hear the oracles spilling from her to echo her name. 71","Acknowledgements Kim, for being the constant ray of light that guided my every path. Thank you for helping me see the wider scheme of things. Without your insight and logic, I would have remained wandering around in doubt and worry, and wouldn\u2019t have made it to the end of the tunnel. Trizia and Rodney, for holding my hand and treading through the darkness with me. You kept me sane and grounded despite the countless conundrums I had in the making of this folio. Also, for believing in me and for simply being there\u2014the both of you made the void bearable and comforting in a way. Alvin and Disney, for striking the match that allowed me to build the hearth from which this folio was created. I will always be grateful for having both of you as my mentors\u2014I would\u2019ve never become the writer I am today if it weren\u2019t for the two of you. Thank you for arduously sustaining the flame that I had within myself. I will forever cherish the spark that you ignited for me. Hezron, for holding up the torch that shed light in the chasm\u2014letting me see the penumbra that lurked in its recesses. I can never express my gratitude for your counsel all throughout the journey of creating this folio. I would\u2019ve never delved into the depths and saw things in a different light if it weren\u2019t for your unceasing encouragement and reassurance. Carl, Earl, Joshua, Star, and Tini, for seeing past the gray 72","areas, paving the way for the cover of this folio. You never tired in offering idea after idea to the table, mulling over each one, and going beyond the bounds of your imagination to find the right facets for the cover. Your commitment to its conception was indeed unparalleled. Alex, Kathy, and Kiara, for piecing together the shadows casted in the stories, sketches, and photographs within the confines of these pages. None could have better grappled each one and chained them down for all to see than the three of you. Andie, Pi, Christian, and Angela, for daring to play with light and dark\u2014encapsulating the musings and phantoms within each stroke of your hands. Karl, Ino, Keilah, and Gelo, for capturing the instances that most allow to pass\u2014putting to light scenes and emotions that the naked eye fails to capture. Families and those we hold dear, for allowing us to free ourselves from the shackles that tie us down and prevent us from seeing beyond the light that seeped through the walls of our caves. And to all our contributors, for braving through the pitch black pit, illuminating the path, and seeing past the figments that lurked within its infinite blackness. 73","","THESPECTRUM FOUNDED 1956 facebook.com\/thespectrumusls \u00b7 [email protected] Member Alliance of Lasallian Campus Journalists and Advisers Hezron G. Pios EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Starlene Joy B. Portillo ASSOCIATE EDITOR Joshua L. Mahilum MANAGING EDITOR Hana Patricia Raj E. Hautea ASST. MANAGING EDITOR Andrea Danielle A. Gamboa EXTERNAL AFFAIRS DIRECTOR NEWSPAPER EDITOR Ivee E. Manguilimotan ASST. NEWSPAPER EDITOR Ma. Kristine R. Bayadog MAGAZINE EDITOR Lance Christian M. Juarez ONLINE PUBLICATIONS EDITOR Kynah Rhea B. Fuentes ASST. ONLINE PUBLICATIONS EDITOR Angela A. Coronel LITERARY EDITOR Paula Mae E. Villarosa CREATIVE DIRECTOR Martini M. Falco PHOTOS & VIDEOS EDITOR Karl Brian T. Marqueza LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS EDITOR Alexandra V. Bachoco ASST. LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS EDITOR Katherine E. Co NEWSPAPER WRITERS PHOTOJOURNALISTS Alan S. Villanueva Angelo F. Despi Patrick N. Billojan Keilah N. Baldomar Drexel John N. Amit Inocencio John Keith B. Ferrer V MAGAZINE WRITERS LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS ARTISTS Adrianne H. Saplagio Kiara Nicole D. Villa Maegan Joy Matamoro Gerico T. Guanco Trizia C. Hassim ONLINE WRITERS ILLUSTRATORS Shan Marc O. Jabagat Ezra Chrislaine L. Ortega Anna Theresa S. Parayno Carl Hason T. Gerale LITERARY WRITER Earl John D. Pabular Alvin Brian S. Legario WEB ADMINISTRATOR Christian Dominic L. Ledesma PUBLICATION MODERATOR Jean Lee C. Patindol","76"]
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