Literary

Is the byline still yours if it is paid for? A question that lingers in the quiet corners of a newsroom, where the relentless chase for a story often drowns out the murmur of conscience.

I remembered myself as a child asking this question, watching the people sleeping on cardboard mats and the others knocking on our car windows holding Sampaguita garlands, their palms waiting for the change they will never get from us.

Isang tanong na ang bawat bigkas ay may sakit at tusok, para bang pinapahiwatig na wala kang karapatang mapagod sapagkat hindi ka naman gumagalaw. Pero paano kung ang pagod ay hindi sa katawan, kung hindi sa isip na paulit-ulit na nagbibilang ng pagkukulang? Sa kagustuhan na makahanap ng kapayakan para sa sarili? Sa kaluluwang pilit na bumabangon, kahit na hindi alam kung bakit.

Soon, with my diploma in hand, I will pack my bags in silence and follow those who walked ahead of me. Not because I am ungrateful, but because I have learned that gratitude alone cannot pay rent, cannot heal the exhaustion that settles in the bones after twelve-hour shifts with no hazard pay, no working equipment, no assurance that tomorrow will be better.

Araw-araw, iba't ibang tao ang ating nakasasalamuha. Iba't ibang wangis ang ating nakasasagupa. At sa bawat hakbang at tapak ng mga paa, hindi natin batid na karamihan pala sa kanila ay nagmistulang bayaning hangad ang mabuti para sa nakararami.

Sa lilim ng social media may batang nakapanood ng mga inaapi, mga iyak ng musmos, walang tigil na giyera at kulog! Ngunit kung babasahin ang mga komento, tila wala talaga tayong pake, nakalingon sa dilim, ang bata ay nais gumising ng mga pusong natutulog.

May silid pa ba para sa aking pangarap, kung bawat piso’y sa bulsa nila nasasadlak? Ako'y kabataang patuloy na umaasa, ngunit ang kaban ng bayan sa bulsa nila'y napupunta.

Bakit hindi na kita muling nakita? Hindi ko na nasilayan pa ang mapula mong labi na maglabas ng kinagisnan mong salita? Tila alon nalang ito sa sariling karagatan na tinangay kasabay ng malakas na hangin ng mga banyagang nagdulot ng iyong pagkalimot.

Tanaw ko ang dugo't pawis na inilaan ng mga magsasakang maghapong nasa palayan. Kahit pa matirik, masakit ang araw at nakasusunog ng balat ang kaniyang sinag, walang tigil pa rin sa pagkayod at pagpapakapagod ang mga magsasakang kabutihan ang hangad at nagtatrabaho nang may dangal.

Nakatayo ako sa gitna ng dalawang mundo na hindi maaaring magtagpo, hawak ang kamay ng taong nagparamdam sa akin kung paano mahalin ang sarili ko, habang sa kabilang banda ay naririnig ko ang tinig ng mga nagpalaki at bumuo sa akin. Kung saan ang pag-ibig ay dapat na nagdiriwang, ako'y nakakulong sa pinakamalupit na tanong: mahal ko o mahal ako?

Sa bayang nababalot ng pusikit na dilim at ng sistemang tila isang lumang kuta ng kawalan, may natatagong silahis na hindi kayang patayin—ang diwang matatag ng lahing Pilipino. Hindi ito ang dilim na dulot ng gabi, kundi ang gabi na tila pinili ng sanlibutan. At sa loob ng gabing iyon, natuklasan natin ang kapangyarihan ng ating mga puso, na naging ilaw at tanglaw.

Sa harap ng Maykapal at ng ating mga minamahal, ako’y nangangakong mananatili sa’yo. Sa bawat yakap at halik ng kamaong aking sinasamo; sa bawat haplos at hagupit ng tinig, sa mala-elehiyang mga liriko.

Gusto ko na lang lumipat sa Switzerland. Sa bayan na tila may gatas at pulot ang daan, kung saan ang trapiko ay hindi kaaway, at ang pamahalaan ay tunay na kaagapay.

Nalalapit na ang katapusan ng buwan—ibig sabihin, singilan na naman. Hindi ko pa nahahawakan ang suweldo ko pero nagbabadya na ang bayarin sa renta, kuryente, tubig, at ipadadala sa pamilya.

Hindi ko malilimutan ang tunog ng palakpak. Tila alon na paulit-ulit na bumabayo sa aking isipan, ngunit kailanman hindi ako nadadala. Ang mga pangalan nila’y isa-isang sinisigaw, bawat isa’y may kasamang hiyaw ng tuwa. At ako? Ako’y nananatiling tahimik, nakaupo, at pilit na tinatakpan ang panginginig ng mga daliri kong kanina pa kumakapit sa aking panulat.

Ako si Natoy, kilala noong elementarya bilang matalino. May kumpiyansa ang kilos ko, tila alam ko na agad ang kalalabasan ng bawat pagsusulit. Ngunit, hindi ako isinilang na may sagot sa lahat.

Tuwing nasisilayan ko ang mga batang kay saya sa piling ng kani-kanilang ama, tila lalo kong nadarama ang init na ‘di kailanman dumampi sa aking kaluluwa. Sa bawat halakhak na sumasayaw sa hangin, sumisiksik sa dibdib ang pait na kay hirap alisin, at sa bawat pikit ng mata, ako’y patuloy na nagtatanong kung darating pa ang araw na malalasap ko rin ang ganoong saya.

To know oneself is a task so hard to find But to find oneself, is a challenging yet thrilling wall to climb. Not in the mirror's gaze, nor selfish seeking But in the hearts of others, finding true self in serving.

There's the eldest and the youngest. And there's also the middle child: the in-between.

I thought love was a game I kept losing. ‎I gave and gave, only to be left empty. ‎I chased moments, people, and promises—until chasing became tiring, and hoping became a wound I no longer wanted to reopen. ‎I stopped searching. ‎I told myself I was okay being alone.

Have you ever thought about your friend who was the center of attention? The silver spoon, the golden child? The person who made you think—"Was I ever enough?"

“Masaya na ako sa tanawing ito. Ikaw, mula sa malayo.”

Sometimes I wonder how some people could easily reach for something I have longed for.

Sa isang giyerang milyon-milyong tao ang apektado, at puno ng labanang madugo, nananaig pa rin ang kabutihan sa puso ng iilan.

Kasing lamig ng sorbetes ang yakap ng gabi, Sa pusong linamon ng bansang walang silbi. Araw ay parang kalayo, hindi ilaw ang pag-asa, Sa bawat sikat nito, gutom ay sumisikap.

Ate Lala held the world in glass, Each photo stitched with silent screams. She captured truths too raw to pass, Yet faded out of all their dreams.

When I die, do not bury me six feet down, for in my whole life, all I've known is the ground, looking down, kneeling, crawling, and begging low, wishing for a miracle to pull my feet from the sinkhole, of a casket meant to bury me alive.

Naranasan mo na bang kabahan sa isang papalapit na kompetisyon ngunit ika'y nag-alinlangan at pinili na lamang na umatras?

In quiet corners of classrooms, Where whispered truths blooms, A revolution, soft and brave, Was written not with a sword but with a page.

Sabi nila, “Ang mga tala’y mananatiling nakikita sa langit.” Paano kung sabihin kong nakita ko itong bumaba?

Tahimik ang damdamin sa tuwing ika’y tanaw, tila hanging dumaraan—dumarampi’t dumadalaw. May mga titig kang hindi ko mabatid, Tila parang lihim na hindi kayang masambit.

Pero sa araw-araw mong ginagamit ang mga katagang ito, natanto mo ba ang katotohanan nito? Siguro dahil nga uso, ginagagawa mo lamang siyang bahagi ng iyong expresyon.

Love, in this house, was like a missing arm. You knew it should be there. You felt the empty space. But it was never truly around.

Curiosity that killed the cat, Like mom told me, For whom it’s true— Can I invite you?

Every bone in my body aches for the echo of your presence. I didn’t think you’d become my deepest wound— I called you my greatest love, never my most haunting scar. I pictured you in my forever, Not in the memories I now flinch from.

In the corner of a quiet room, beneath a flickering light, A student sits in silence, preparing now to write. With ink-stained fingers and thoughts that burn, they write the truths at every turn.

Lilib ang inabot ng kahapon, Reporma'y nabalot ng ambon. Mula sa paglipad, si maya’y saksi— Sa sansinukob niyang pakiwari: “Nangangapa ako’y sa huli, basang sisiw sa gilid”.

Siya’y hindi madalas mapansin. Tahimik kung maglakad, tila ayaw istorbohin. May bitbit na lumang folder at kwaderno, panulat na ubos na ang tinta, at mukha ng isang estudyanteng sanay na sa mga salitang pilit na binubura. Si Lira—manunulat ng pahayagang pampaaralan. Hindi man kilala ng karamihan, hindi man binabati sa daan, ngunit laging nandoon tuwing may kailangang isulat na hindi kayang sabihin ng iba.

Only two letters, yet it’s hard to say. I was young when I learned how to nod and simply smile at everything despite being uncomfortable. The first time was a consideration. The next few times became a reflex. Not until it became a routine.

Lakas ng loob, oo, pero saan? Para sa likes, hindi sa bayan. Boses malakas, ngunit hungkag ang laman, Naglilingkod daw, pero sarili ang pangangailangan.

Scroll. Read. Comment. That’s all it takes, to ruin someone’s day. To crush confidence, that took years to build. To turn a screen, into a battlefield.

A bright light in the universe, Came to life in the eternal abyss, Showered by people with pride, in the book—a unique verse. Fueled by praise and bliss.

Beneath the lights, a thousand cheer, Two strangers lost in staged romance. But what they hide becomes too clear, A secret kiss, a risky dance.

It’s strange how things become a habit. Like how I still prepare a plate for you at the dinner table, saving a seat for you beside me on occasions, or calling out your name as if you were there.

It started with a question. "Class," our PERDEV teacher said, “How do you see yourself… in the mirror?” And just like that, a wave of silence filled the room.

A post what I saw “Sana umulan para suspended.”

They call us leaders. They see our neatly pressed uniforms, our practiced speeches, our steady hands as we hold the mic. They see us standing tall on stage, our faces lit with confidence, our names attached to titles that carry honor.

It used to feel like living inside that film, Inside Out — where joy and colors brim, where tiny voices kept my heart in flight, where even sadness still felt somehow right.

I am the wildest when the streets are quiet. Emptiness invades me, and there's no way to hide. No way to escape. To mend this broken heart is like picking a mango in an apple tree.

We're used to be together. From the bonds and memories created, we're closed by the fate amidst diversities. We're sharing miseries and milestones throughout the life challenges. That says so much how much we're treasuring the years we have.

The writer reflects on a past relationship, grappling with the realization of the hurt they caused. The author details the lingering guilt and the impact of their actions, exploring themes of regret and the lasting consequences of a seemingly simple mistake.

A sudden overwhelming pressure of the crowd, Everyone is watching which makes her unsure, The trembling echoes of cheers are too loud, One wrong step triggers an achiever's fear of failure.

If you were to tell me that there’s a whole other world far from what I know, I might never believe you. For nothing good exists beyond the broken debris of damaged houses I’ve built over and over for people I wanted to stay, only for them to rob me of the love I once knew and the few little things I can hardly call my own.

Dear Diary, I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t tired. Not the “I stayed up too late” tired — the deep, brain-fog, emotionally-drained, body-feels-heavy kind of tired. I’m sixteen, and I already feel like I’m burning out.

“Ang hindi mapagkakatiwalaan sa maliit na bagay, ay lalo’t higit na hindi mapagkakatiwalaan sa malaking bagay.” That’s what my teacher said and it stayed with me—longer than most lessons ever do.

Late in the night, down the stars fell. Sirens blared, ringing like a bell. Homes, toppled in a single blow, A river of blood, in the dust, flowed.

Ngayo’y ang araw ay maliwanag na sumikat, Mga Pilipino’y patuloy na nagsisilbi ng tapat. Kalayaan ng bayan, ngayon ay nakamtan.

In a world drunk on tomorrow, we forget the perfume of today. We chase shadows of what might be, while the warm sunlight slips through our fingers silently.

They said when you turn 18, everything changes. Like the world would greet you with open arms, like responsibilities would finally feel empowering, like you’d wake up with a roadmap, a vision, a fire in your chest.

Sa Iyo na Di Na Nakabalik, Lahat ay tila normal nang araw na 'yon. Alas-singko pa lang ng umaga, nagkakape ka na habang binibilang ang natirang panustos. “Huling taya,” sabi mo, habang iniipit sa bulsa ang kulubot na dalawang libo. Tumango ako, bagama’t sanay na sa pangakong ‘yan. Pero sa totoo lang, kahit paulit-ulit, naniwala pa rin ako. Dahil ang totoo, sa kabila ng pagod mo, buo pa rin ang paninindigan mong hindi tayo susuko.

Mahal kong Kabataang Pilipino, Ika nga ni Dr. José P. Rizal at sa ganitong araw rin siya isinilang, "Ang kabataan ang pag-asa ng bayan." Subalit paano kung mismong ang kinabukasan ng kabataang Pilipino ay ninakaw ng mga pekeng kumakatawan sa kabataan na mismong mga strawman pa?

It started quiet, filled with dark a sickness passed in blood and breath. But louder than the virus was the blame.

Someone once asked me, “If you were a word, what would you be?” There are thousands of words to choose from, but one always stands out to me. If I had to be a word, I’d be curious.

I stand no higher than a simple man, Yet quietly I’ll cheer you when I can. You test my heart as far as you are able, I bleed and falter, fragaile at your table.

They flagged my name — not for falsehood, not for slander, but for a punctuation too deliberate. They looked at my words — and saw code.

Tahimik ang araw ng Linggo—walang nagsabi sa akin na pumunta roon sa parke, basta naglakad lang ako at huminga nang malalim. Walang nag-aya, wala ring naghihintay sa akin. Basta't naramdaman ko na kailangan kong humiwalay.