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Pangposas Nga Panyo

Play by | November 9th, 2014

Sa istasyon sa pulis. Hapon.

Miduol si Liling, usa ka kwarintay-singko nga babayi, sa lamisa kung asa adunay babayi nga pulis. Sa iyang atubangan, adunay usa ka lalaki nga naka-polo. Gihiktan ang mga kamot sa lalaki gamit ang usa ka pink nga panyo. Gisenyasan ni Liling ang lalaki nga muingkod tapad sa ubang mga pulis nga nangape. Nipuwesto siya sa tunga sa istasyon nga nakatindog.

Liling: O, maayong adlaw mga Chief! Maayong adlaw kaninyong tanan! Siguro katingalahan para ninyo nga ania ko diri karon, nagdala ug usa ka lalaki nga giposasan nako ug panyo. Pink pa gyud nga adunay mga gagmay’ng bulak-bulak sa kilid. Mga Chief, ako siyang gipabantay sa inyo karon. Pero sa kadako sa iyang sala, dili siguro ni siya mudagan samtang ania pa ko.

Ako si Liling, usa ka labandera lang intawon didto sa Sampaguita. Dili ako ang kanang maong panyo. Kanang akong gipangposas kay gipalaba sa akong silingan, pero dili gyud nako mabalik sa tag-iya. Ang kanang lalaki sa inyong tapad kay akong ipakulong tungod sa hastang pagkapangit nga pagkapa sa piano didto sa Mintal, ug sa pag-undang ug tugtog sa tunga-tunga sa kantang “Amahan Namo”.

Pasensya, Chief. Basin abi ninyo bugal-bugal lang ni akoa ba. Pero dili. Wala nay mas ikaseryoso nga akong himuon sa akong tibuok kinabuhi. Gusto gyud nako siya ipakulong diri nga istasyon sa pulis. Bisag mga pipila lang intawon ka adlaw.

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Schedule of Activities for Davao Writers Workshop 2014

Editor's Note by | October 28th, 2014

DWW2014
Davao Writers Workshop 2014 is currently ongoing at Lispher Inn, Matina, Davao City. Sessions are open to the public. Please see Davao Writers Workshop 2014 Schedule for more details.

Nana and Our Nangka Tree

Nonfiction by | October 26th, 2014

Yesterday I bought a pack of nangka or jackfruit from the grocery store. The smell was so enticing that I had to pick one and convince myself I wasn’t splurging. One pack has 10 seeds and costs 50 pesos. Immediately after paying, I pulled the bubble-wrap, took out one seed at a time and savored every bite. I planned to finish all in one sitting and not have any leftovers inside the refrigerator for later. My Nana, or Yaya, as many would associate her, used to tell me that the smell of this fruit extends unsolicited to all other elements in the fridge, like a surprisingly sweet gesture.

Before transferring to study and eventually own a company based in Davao, I used to live in Dumaguete City. There, we have a two-storey house fenced by a number of mango, chico, and star apple trees, as well as, a good growth of garden vegetables to harvest by season. To welcome visitors in our front yard are other plants such as a line of orchids and relative flowers. The main attraction is like a CTA widget inviting neighbors as it consistently bears two fruits every month. It is our Nangka Tree located on the right side, facing the gate. My Nana would wrap each of the tree’s fruit upon its birth and when it matures, it would reveal a large sweet and fleshy product enough to make a family of five happy. My twin and I, the Nangka and its interests were among Nana’s primary concerns.

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Dihang Nagpungko ta sa Tagsok nga Espidno 

Poetry by | October 26th, 2014

Alang kang Millefeuille Erin Casing

Ako lang gihunahuna
niining gabhiona
nga giunsa natog abot
diri sa tagsok nga espidno,
apan nilantugay ka sa tingog
sa mga dagsay gadusmog
sama sa mga botelya sa bino
nga nangabuak sa graba nga salog.
Ang mga kinagod nga nota
sa gitara ninglatagaw
daw mga langaw nga nahanaw
ngadto sa tabako nga aso.
Nag-uyog gyod ang trapal nga atop
gumikan sa mga lanog sa baho ug bombo,
daw nanimbaya sa mga kalag nga nanglaay
sa ilang lubnganan. Nagsalimoang
sa palibot ang mga banyaga
nga ga-vintage shirt ug tattered jeans,
gibandera nilang sungayon nga kumo
samtang naghugyaw sa gipangtiyabaw
sa namaoy nga bokalista.
Didto sa mga suok diin nagalisngaw
ang angso sa gidagkot nga bokoy,
ang mga ulitawo ug dalaga
nga nangasaag sa kahigal;
namayloay og ngabil
hain nagutingkay ang ilang kamot
sa dulom daw nangita’g milagro
dinhi sa tagsok nga espidno.
Kini tanan imong nasaksihan
sa gisuot mong antepara
samtang kita gapungko sa kilid.
Wap-a man intawon ka nag-diyese otso
gahigop lang gihapon og Sparkle.
Gisil-ip ko ang imong tangkugo
nga gidayanan og singot
samtang gipungpong nimo
ang imong puwa nga buhok.
Imo gituaw ang imong panan-aw
ning matang sa kaguliyang.
Matod pa nimo nga makita unta nako
nga taliwala sa kagubot miturok ang rosa.
Nahilom ang palibot. Ikaw ra akong nakita.


Mark Daposala was a fellow at the 1st Xavier University Writer’s Workshop, the 18th Iligan National Writers Workshop, and the 27th Faigao Writer’s Workshop. He’s taking up Bachelor’s Degree in Law at Liceo de Cagayan University to follow the path of Atty. Harvey Dent.

Ang Tigulang Nga Tigbaligya og Ice Drop

Poetry by | October 26th, 2014

Nagsangkiig
nga nagsambilay sa kabug-at
sa baligyang ice drop
samtang gabagting
iyang nangurog nga kamot.
Mipalit ko,
ug sa kadyot nakapahulay
Ang iyang huyang nga abaga.
Gitutokan nako
iyang bukugon ug nangunot
nga kamot
samtang nagkuha siya
sa akong gipalit.
Mitunol ko sa bayad
nga nagsubay sa gisugid
Sa piyahok niyang aping,
sa kunot niyang dagway
sa luoy niyang mga mata
nga wa nagpakaluoy
“Salamat,” miingon ko
adisir siya milakaw. Wala niya
madunggi akong pasalamat
Bugti sa akong talagsaon
nga pagsaksi sa kalig-on.


Gratian Paul R. Tidor is a young poet and visual artist from Dipolog City. He is a fellow of the 17th
Iligan National Writing Workshop. His poems are included in the book anthology entitled
Tinaginting sa Hangin.

Kagabhion

Poetry by | October 26th, 2014

Giukoy sa kagabhion ang takna.
Ug hinay-hinayg hikyad ang dagtom
nga panganod sa kawanangan.
Pagdaklap sa kabog, milanog
ang tuktoga-ok sa sunoy.
Taud-taod, mikuyanap ang gabon
samtang si lolo way timik nga nagtikungkong,
gabad-ay sa sukaranan
sa iyang hirig nga payag
tupad ang sugong pinangko
nianang ba-ong gabii.


Hermi M. Dico is former Integrated Performing Arts Guild (IPAG) artist of MSU_IIT, Iligan City. He is a fellow of the 30th Cornelio Faigao Writers Workshop.

How to Climb Mount Apo

Nonfiction by | October 19th, 2014

Climb when you are fifteen or so. Harbor an affinity for heights: at eleven you must have already seen the whole of Bangkok from the 88th floor of Baiyoke Sky Hotel, as well as gone parasailing at Subic, noting how the sea looks like a massive blue tarpaulin from a height of 800 feet.

Know the basics of mountain trekking: never step on slippery ground, always watch your step; on the way down, lean back and allow your feet to fall on stones as surely as a bird lands on its own shadow. But know also what it is to fear heights. Call to mind the day you first climbed Mount Agad-Agad (your hometown’s tallest mountain), aged nine, when, going up the mountain, the sheer effort wrung your lungs empty and your vision swam in a haze of blue afterimages. On the descent you could only cling to earth and crawl down gingerly. Bear these in mind always, for they will arm you for the great climb. Never forget that what you will be dealing with is the highest mountain in the Philippines (think 9,692 feet above sea level).

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Papa’s Ride 

Poetry by | October 19th, 2014

Papa surrounds
his arms around me
securing, supporting
and never letting go.
While his big hands
that smelt of earth
and roughed with calloused
are cautiously holding
our weight
as he placed them
on the handles of his bike.

I sit on a metal rod
having the same view
of the narrow road
slowly easing
between the scenes
of flowers
of rainbows
of trees
But Papa traded
his two wheels to have four
saying that having more
would take us to places.

Now, I sit beside him
on a cushioned seat
with a belt
replacing the safety
of his arms
His hands pale and perfumed
steering blindly
between streaks of scenes
only seeing half
of the view
of the road.


Joissen Marie Bacharpa is an AB English student of AdDU.

The Bus Ride

Poetry by | October 19th, 2014

The bus pulls away
from the terminal; my sister
softly sinks into the splitting silence
of metal lullabies.
The vastness of the vehicle
narrows in my restlessness,
my slippers tap, tap, tap on the floor
as, lurching, we embrace
the journey to Medina.
How do we measure distance?
When it rains in Cagayan
but my fingers feel dry
in Balingoan, that is how
I feel your absence
and the roads stretching into dust
and memories
of afternoons that listen
to the tap, tap, tap of rain
on your Toyota
and taste the grayness
of lips crying for closure.
But this bus
it drives past canopies
of leafy arms reaching toward
a blank canvas of skin,
past silent bungalows
painted in the colors
of your tasteful laugh.
I hear Medina from a distance,
The gentle waves brushing
against the shore, and I,
tempestuous being,
hear your absence resonate
across the sands:
The bus ride carries me away
but where you are, I stay.


Karlene is an AB Sociology student from Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan. She is a fellow in the 21st Iligan National Writers Workshop. On Sundays, her column appears on Sun Star CDO.

Dear John, Part 2

Fiction by | October 12th, 2014

continued from part 1

I love my mother very much. She is the only person who accept me as a gay. My brothers especially Ricky is shy to other people that I am a gay. My sisters and father is not angry to me but they do not care me. They do not make me part of their life. When my father is still living he do not talk to me. When only him and me is in one place, for example in the sala, he go to the kitchen or to outside the house to his fighting cocks. Only my mother kiss me and embrace me when she is still not a stroke victim. But sometimes I hate her, I blame her. This is her mistake. I become a gay because she dress me like a girl when I was small. She give birth to two girls and three boys straight before she give birth to me. When I go out, my two sisters are already big and my mother miss playing to a little baby girl so she always dress me with skirt and then she sing to me and said to me to do fashion show in our sala. So I want to be Miss Universe when I grow up.

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