Penelope Wong – Elizabeth Seton School Thu, 06 Mar 2025 14:33:15 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 The Metamorphosis Of A Child /the-metamorphosis-of-a-child/ Fri, 03 Jun 2022 04:00:46 +0000 /?p=6870

Althea Aboga

Author & Graphic Artist

The Metamorphosis Of A Child

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Once, a caterpillar made a cocoon. It was dark and cozy; no sunlight could possibly seep through its holes, for there were none. It was the perfect environment to unwind and rest once the caterpillar had finished playing with its friends. It entered the chrysalis of its own making, curling up within for comfort and warmth. It was only supposed to stay there for a while, only until the night had faded away into the familiar shades of gold and yellow. 

But it soon found out that there was no way out. As if the pupa it lay in was sealed tightly, no struggle would allow it to escape—so it sat there, cold and alone. The only company it had was itself, swinging back and forth as its only form of entertainment. Months pass by, and it begins to wonder. Had it only known this would happen, it would have enjoyed the time it spent with its friends more dearly. Holding the memories close to its small and fragile heart was the only thing it could do as it waited for the cocoon to set it free. 

Was this it? The caterpillar questioned, only by now it was no longer larva. As its mind twisted and turned, trying to find an escape, it seemed as if its body had also been changing. Its legs grew less and less, an unfamiliar set of wings sprouted from its back. The caterpillar learned to be afraid of itself. On most days, it refused to open its eyes fearing that it might have changed again. It wanted to stay a caterpillar. Though it could not deny that remarkable yet terrifying transformation being subjected to its feeble body, the caterpillar chose to reject it. In its mind, it was just the caterpillar it once was. When it was still happy and free.

It then noticed something odd, the pupa that once perfectly cradled its body was now too tight. The lack of space was suffocating, air grew thinner and thinner by the minute. Its head uncomfortably hitting the ceiling of the cocoon, and its body coiled in such an odd and cramped way. It heard a crack, and suddenly, the tiniest ray of sun entered. The caterpillar knew exactly what to do. Immediately, it started to violently rattle itself. The walls of its shell slowly tearing down piece by piece. 

A sweet gush of wind entered its lungs, its eyes were blinded by the bright blue sky. It crawled out, leaving a dry shriveled up husk behind it—finally, it was free. The first thing it thought to do was to reunite with all of its friends. It had been several weeks since it had last seen them. It started to crawl to where it knew they would be, but when it arrived, there wasn’t a single caterpillar in sight. Only butterflies. 

One had asked it a question: “Why are you crawling? Don’t you have wings?” It flew closer to the caterpillar, a blur of black and blue. The butterfly was right, it did have wings, yet never had it once thought of even trying to fly. Frankly, the caterpillar told it that it didn’t want to fly. “Why don’t you want to fly? You have to,” the butterfly insisted, fluttering around it, creating an invisible circle that surrounded the caterpillar. 

“I am just a caterpillar,” it told the butterfly. How could it possibly learn to fly? The butterfly laughed at the caterpillar. “You’re kidding, right? You were once a caterpillar, but now you’re a butterfly like the rest of us. You have to fly. You have to!” The butterfly grew impatient, urging the caterpillar to take flight, but it just wasn’t ready yet. It didn’t have the time to adjust, the weight of its wings still made its back sore, and it could barely lift them. The caterpillar cowered, crawling back.

“What are you waiting for!? Fly! Fly! Fly!,” the butterfly continued, only approaching the caterpillar further as it backed away. The butterfly became upset, its wings flapped faster and faster. The wind almost blew the caterpillar away, its legs held onto a blade of grass as tightly as it could. It shivered in fear as the butterfly stared at it, a displeased expression drawn across its small face. The butterfly raised its voice, little by little. “I only want to help you! It’s better if you fly!” 

The caterpillar tried to scream for help, but the other butterflies were too busy gliding through the sky. With nowhere else to go, the caterpillar pushed its body off the ground, launching itself into the air. The little caterpillar flew away, fleeing from the butterfly. “You’ll thank me later!,” it heard the butterfly cackle from behind it. 

Its wings flapped irregularly, one faster than the other. Occasionally it dropped down from the air, flimsily trying to keep itself afloat. Truly a pathetic sight to behold. It could never forget what the butterfly had said. It was harsh and mean, maybe even cruel. But the truth finally dawned, it will never be a caterpillar again. 

Days seemed longer ever since that incident. The caterpillar not only had to deal with the weight of its wings, but also the weight of the responsibility it never wanted to have. The caterpillar still had nightmares of the awful butterfly from before, its face mocked the caterpillar every time it closed its little eyes. But even so, the caterpillar could not help but miss the playground that it and its friends would often visit. 

Gathering as much courage as it could, it flew to the familiar spot. The caterpillar found that most of its friends had already moved on from its worm-like state, and now lived the life of a completely different creature. While its friends flew there simply for their own leisure, the caterpillar only came there to mourn the memories it had with them; sky filled with faces that it recognized, yet not one seemed even remotely familiar. 

From the corner of its eyes, the little caterpillar spotted a newly formed butterfly, groveling at the ground on its stomach. It wriggled and turned, not having fully adjusted itself in its new form. This created a funny feeling in the caterpillar’s stomach. Maybe the butterfly from before was right to laugh at it for crawling on the ground. It did look quite funny, seeing a fully formed butterfly with wings yet not having a clue as to how to pick itself up.

This went on for a few minutes, the new butterfly continued to drag itself across the grass field as the caterpillar aimlessly stared at it. The little caterpillar’s face morphed from a look of amusement to one of disgust, staring at the new butterfly with remorse. Its wing twitched in annoyance, as no matter how hard everyone else stared at it, the young butterfly would not fly. It wouldn’t even try to fly. And so, the little caterpillar approached the new butterfly, flapping its wings loudly as it approached. 

The caterpillar had asked the new butterfly a question. “Why are you crawling? Don’t you have wings?” the caterpillar asked. Only silence answered it as the new butterfly swerved away from the caterpillar, inching away from it one step at a time. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” the caterpillar insisted, following the new butterfly, its shadow ghosting the grass below. 

The new butterfly shrugged, continuing to crawl away. “I don’t want to talk to you.” It said simply. The caterpillar grew angry at this: “I’m only trying to help! It’s easier if you fly!,” it retorted. That seemed to have made the butterfly stop in its tracks, looking back at the upset caterpillar. “Why do you wanna help me? I’ll learn to fly when the time is right, so please stop trying to force me to fly,” it said before looking back, waddling away. 

The caterpillar felt a sharp pang in its chest, flying idle in the sky. It felt so jealous of the new butterfly. The feeling of envy arose from the bottom of its small heart, exploding until the tips of its antenna. But even knowing this, it felt happy. Perhaps, it was too late for the little caterpillar to change… but if the next generation of butterflies are strong like the one it encountered earlier, then there is hope for the rest of them. 

It only now realized how much time it wasted feeling sorry for itself, how much time it could’ve saved by sticking up for itself. If it had only been like the new butterfly, the caterpillar would never have forced itself to fly when it wasn’t ready. The caterpillar shook its head, ridding itself of those thoughts. “No!” the caterpillar told itself. “I won’t waste time feeling sorry for myself anymore.” It continued, lowering its feeble body to the ground, its legs moving as it paced forward on the ground. “All I need is to take some time to adjust.” It said, proudly marching on the ground, and as the rest of them stared at it like it was some sort of wild animal, the caterpillar smiled, the first in a long time, finally content with the butterfly that it had become. 

]]> To My Stars, Sun, and Sky /to-my-stars-sun-and-sky/ Tue, 31 May 2022 01:20:10 +0000 /?p=6904

Samantha Jang

Author

Nicole Pielago

Graphic Artist

To My Stars, Sun, And Sky

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I’ve learned a lot, after all these years of drifting afloat in this abyss. The galaxy is vast and unclear, yet unexpectedly beautiful. All because of the heavenly bodies that adorn it with their luminous glow. Yet, it beholds a dark, sullen path which I once had overcome with my fellow stars. They’ve granted me everything; they opened my eyes and snapped my senses to feel the bliss I failed to see. All of them were beautiful, stunning, and one of a kind. I’ll admit that I’ve even kept traces of their glistening stardust to rouge my face, and conceal the scars that mark it.

However, I often found myself in moments where my stars just seemed too far out of reach. The ghastly orbit would plummet me to the murkiest corners of its fallen realm, and I’d find myself lost in its curse. I would’ve easily avoided it if only the force of gravity attached to my wings wasn’t all that tight, thereby leaving me hungry for a taste of freedom. Nonetheless, I was well aware that no amount of desire would be enough to break these iron chains.

As time passed, my body was left to ache, and my soul grew too weak to fly. It almost seemed as if my cries were released only for the deathly space to engulf my calls and swallow my tears. Well, that’s what I had thought at least. It was a horrid belief I forcefully spent centuries living by.

Well, that was until I met her.

 In fact, she was the very first to prove that point false. The blurred reflection of my fogged spectacles had coincidentally taken their glance at her golden daring eyes. 

The universe saw her as a star, far and bright,

while I saw her as my Sun.

Beforehand, my emotions slowly lost their cause while my despair slowly consumed me. I was at my absolute worst. 

That was until I heard her call out my name. She said as if it was a song – a blissful chorale perhaps. Her voice was like a flame softened by the wind: husky and fierce, yet gentle and fair. The subtle warmth she emitted cradled my body as her presence filled the air, despite our awfully spacious distance. The bitterness that once controlled me had deteriorated, piece by piece. It was her who inspired me to be the strong, fruitful woman I had longed to be.

Time seemed to grow tiresome and infinite, yet I still patiently waited for our orbits to collide.

The universe grew brighter as she drew close, where I’d have a clearer glimpse of her lovely aura as I’d drift near, as we’d drift and venture through the mysteries of the sky, making it our own stage to dance on. 

 My heart grew restless as I eagerly longed to see my sweetheart in person and introduce her to my darling stars. The tint of her light brought a glistening spark on my skin that was once lifeless and dull. Her heavenly aura had become part of me, as it glowed stronger for each step I took to reach her. I honestly still had fear stored upon my chest, yet her image empowered me with hope since I had the idea of meeting my sun and stars once more. 

Suddenly, the darkness that once controlled me had shriveled up and became one with the beaming light we made. She reached her hand out and kissed my calloused fingers, and . . .

My worries trembled as I felt her loving embrace. She had thin, airy braids that flowed like the tides I once tamed. Her delicate fingers swept through my complexion, while her fierce yet innocent glance met my eyes. She looked at me with her eyelids creased and a wide smile resting on her face, and at a sudden blink of an eye, her sweet lips met mine, and we kissed as if there was no tomorrow. We spent our precious time singing songs: she’d strike the keys of her gold rimmed piano while I’d pluck the strings of my silver barred lute, as we composed melodies that we sang before we slept. Her delicate hands held my calloused fingers while we danced to the eclipse’s lullabies. 

Little did we know that this connection would soon come to an end.

I’ve never had a month fly by so fast. The cruelty of time left us weeping as our orbits pushed us away. We didn’t even get to say our goodbyes nor to hold our last dance. Her amber tears flowed as mine hardened to stone. Our cries were heard throughout the galaxy as our bodies grew farther away. The life I have darkened once more, after an eternity of waiting for a beam of light to come.

I later found myself back home. The place I had once lived and worked at before I had a taste of how bitterly bland loneliness can possibly be. I was back to this nostalgic, peaceful state where fellow stars danced, yet this time their melodies didn’t sound the same. Every note of the town’s country organ had struck me like the thunder that accompanied the waves I had always tirelessly soothed, as I remembered what I’ve lost and surrendered to its curse once again.

After slowly taking my time to heal, I decided to fly out and meet my stars again. Some greeted me with the same unconditional love, some changed, while others had perished or cut me out of their lives. Coming back to all of this had enlightened me yet left me deeply wondering.

Did my stars see me as something bright, someone they could look up to or rely on? Did I help them as much as they had helped and taught me? Was I a good influence or such?

Did my sweetheart see me as her darling sun too? Did she get to taste the butterflies and ecstasy her care had spoiled me with? Did I give her the love she showed in her actions and her daring eyes?

Or, was I nothing but a mere asteroid who was nothing but a bother to them? An obstacle?

It is embarrassing to admit, but no amount of time has strengthened me to live alone. It was either the company or the memoir of my loved ones that kept me going forward. Drifting through my challenges alone had taught me a lot, but was all that pain worth its shallow price? 

No, not at all.

Everyone goes through difficult times in their lives, no matter how joyful or rich it may seem at first glance. People often tell themselves that they have to face these obstacles alone since the battles one has to overcome and face are often unclear and biased. You are just like me, but you can do better than I did. Call your stars as loud as you can; don’t let your fear engulf the beauty that your pain and worries are blinding you from. Peers can be difficult, but there is someone amongst the seven billion people on your chaotic little planet who is willing to give you the guidance you need. 

Companionship is a necessity; there are instances where you’ll find yourself on the verge of surrender. Requesting for help doesn’t make you weak – it proves your courage and will to grow, yet that’s often overseen just because the price of one’s assistance or time seems too much to pay for. But don’t forget, you hold more than enough power to be someone’s star and sun. If you ask me, that’s worth more than you can ever imagine. Perhaps you may not be aware of the heavenly glow you emit, my dear one.  

I wish you the best of luck with your orbit – please wish me the best as I learn how to overcome mine, so I can treat and bond with my stars and reach my Sun once more. Her light is a part of me now; I can still feel her love from this distance. Along with the stardust that has rouged my dented cheeks I’ll get there, and you will, too. I know you will.

Love, Moon

]]> Seeing And Being Seen /seeing-and-being-seen/ Wed, 25 May 2022 07:00:43 +0000 /?p=7397

Penelope Wong

Author

Ryza Vasquez

Graphic Artist

Seeing And Being Seen

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The most fundamental and basic of all binaries, sex. Girlhood has always been defined by the experience of being observed. It is to be seen by others and seeing yourself through their lenses. What you are, preordained by their whim, by notions and stereotypes.

Femininity is shameful. They are taught that their interests hold no value because it’s something done by them. Girls were belittled for their hobbies, pushed into abandoning it for more acceptable pursuits. On the chance that they did happen to like their femininity, then they were vilified. If you weren’t a girl yourself, you are taught that anything effeminate is below you. Females are what the world doesn’t want, what it wishes to get rid of, the antithesis of our culture’s ideal.

The norms and roles prescribed towards women are of subservience and acquiescence, to act as yielding wives and daughters. All of these traits tend to emotional and social needs. These expectations allow women to be vulnerable without being shamed, even being praised for conforming to it. This sort of vulnerability is encouraged only in girls, which, later on as women, they are obligated to provide. As the saying goes, love only comes with a woman’s touch, and this notion aptly sums up the issue. 

Throughout history and the span of all cultures, the ideal had always been masculinity, centered on its strength, competitiveness, and individualism. This fact needs no elaboration. It is upheld not only by boys who are subject to it but by the adults who surround them as well, by reinforcing and rewarding the practice of these behaviors – behaviors that can be recognized as toxic masculinity.

Nowadays, these old norms are being stripped away. The restrictiveness and damage brought by the pursuit of traditional masculinity is more openly talked about. More are willing to criticize and challenge the practice of it. How toxic masculinity isn’t an isolated phenomenon, but is an instrument that reinforces sexist and misogynist beliefs that are much better left behind.

In spite of how damaging and regressive the enforcement of masculinity is, it was still a goal for men to strive towards. In a way, society has strippped them of a framework of what men should be. With no male archetype, all they’ve got left to themselves are remnants of a bygone age, upholding attitudes that were once seen as good. There is no shortage of modern female ideals for girls to pursue, especially as gender roles are being broken down. Yet, an equivalent modern male ideal is lacking.

In this period of time where men have no choice but to acclimate and change, why is it women who have to turn the other cheek? Why is it that women are the ones who console, provide, and stand in? When all this time effeminacy was the worst of all school-yard taunts? Female identity, all that is inseparable from the self, has been for eons of human culture what they looked down upon. 

The vulnerability that denoted the object of their disdain is now what men cling to. One can blame those age-old ideals for their inability to tend to their own emotional needs. Who can blame them when attempts to branch out are met by ridicule from their peers? There’s this notion, as a result of this particular brand of stuntedness, that it falls to the women in a man’s life to help him through every emotional turbulence and struggle. The roles of sister, mother, friend, and wife and its corresponding burdens, instead of being separate, are all sublimated, condensing and burdening a single woman only. 

Isn’t it frustrating to find that women not only have to participate in this male led system, but also have to hold their hand as they bemoan it, cry out at having to strip themselves of the ideals that created this male led system in the first place? 

With this in mind, it could be expected that women tend to react to men with revulsion or fear. When weaned in a society with so many bad men, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to say that women see men as a threat, indiscriminately. Women fear the capacity men have for violence, and rightfully so. If being seen and stalked is the experience of girlhood, then observing is what defines boys. When any action taken is an immediate threat, they are resigned to do nothing but watch, to being the bitter voyeur to better men. Where anything less than the male gold standard, anything less than the Giga-Chad is resigning yourself to Beta Cuck. 

Despite being the opposite of each other, the object and its viewer, there’s not much difference between them. Whichever side of the spectrum one may lie, both experiences invoke a lingering sense of disposability and disillusionment. No one is exempt from seeing and being seen. No man or woman is exempt from the disposability of human life that persists in capitalism. All are subject to the same indifferent churning of the machine. It’s just that society expects different products out of each individual.

Disillusionment and the sadness that follows it, the spinelessness and feeling of being lost, is a common experience. Perhaps this commonality is what drives women to put up with men in spite of the fear and apprehension. Both the object and its viewer feel the same grievances, harbor the same anger, and carry the same pride.

Ultimately, try as women might, the solution does not lie within them. No amount of goading or coddling will create a new ideal for men. This is one thing that is not within a woman’s place to create. Whatever it is that men have to do to salvage the rotting corpse of long dead ideals and what they ought to be in this day and age is up for them to decide.

References

Godsil, R. D., & Tropp, L. R. (2016, October). The Effects of Gender Roles, Implicit Bias, and Stereotype Threat on the Lives of Women and Girls. Perception Institute. https://equity.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/Science-of-Equality-Volume-2.pdf

O’Malley, R., & Holt, K. (2020, September 24). An Exploration of the Involuntary Celibate (Incel) Subculture Online. Journal of Interpersonal Violence. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0886260520959625

Sculos, B. (2017). Who’s Afraid of Toxic Masculinity? https://digitalcommons.fiu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1108&context=classracecorporatepower

Stephan, W., & Yamada, A. (2006, July 28). Women’s Attitudes Towards Men: An Integrated Threat Theory. Psychology of Women Quarterly. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.1471-6402.2000.tb01022.x

Winton, T. (2018, April 8). About the Boys: How Toxic Masculinity is Shackling Men to Misogyny. The Guardian. https://www.peacewomen.org/sites/default/files/About%20the%20boys-%20Tim%20Winton%20on%20how%20toxic…men%20to%20misogyny%20%7C%20Books%20%7C%20The%20Guardian.pdf

Yates, M. (2011, June 1). The Human-As-Waste, the Labor Theory of Value and Disposability in Contemporary Capitalism. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.1467-8330.2011.00900.x,

]]> When There Is No Wind /when-there-is-no-wind/ Fri, 20 May 2022 08:00:48 +0000 /?p=6895

Gabreiella Domingo

Author

Reign Caldo

Layout Artist

When There Is No Wind

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It feels like being a bird, incarcerated behind quods crafted by multiple warped, cold steel, hanging above the ground by a single thread looped in the higher depths beyond the horizon, gravity pulling down equally like in a game of tug-of-war. Trapped within the barriers it has built around it, somehow the creature was caught in a point above that it dreamed to reach but is not able to, for the force below him is preventing him to do so. 

Birds are natural aviators and air assists them to fly, but if they are asphyxiated in a demarcated place, a bird cannot serve its purpose. The notion of being able to take flight to reach its full potential with such limited opportunity to do so exploits the mind into only looking  from within the space that is thought to be a permanent fate, extinguishing the light that has once brought a luminous hope in an individual’s heart.

That bird is the only captive in that cage, among other cages inside the tenebrous aviary, but as it observes others around, the bird conceives the thought that they are all similar. They warble and screech and flap their vibrant wings restrainedly in the stifling air, as if lost between the figment of imagination and reality, a fleeting perception of how much one strains to cross between unreachable boundaries. There are pinions to fly, but no skies to soar.

Wasted, trapped, and imprisoned in a leeway, seeking escape. One day, they would be violent and treat themselves as a prey when not even their own acuity can interfere, lost to the contentment of living in the dark. But you may be one of the birds that can hopefully escape. 

There is a window beside the bird. Outside, there is a long array of fields, stretching beyond landscapes of mountains and grassy farmlands of wheat and spring flowers. There are its fellow birds chirping merrily in the utopia of free skies, argentine hues spilling above the unimaginable gaps of what would otherwise be called as the Dark in the aviary. 

Why did I not have the chance to be there? If only the birds in here had not been foolish enough to be lured by inconspicuous menaces of the world around them, they would not have been caught between the bars. If they had not let their guard down, they would still be in liberty. The bird’s achromatic irises darted towards the view, staring directly above the sun as its eyes glazed, claws tightly perched on a piece of wood, counting each and every hushed breath beget by remorse of an imbecile. 

Without the dark, we would be blind. Without light, we cannot see. Yet we should not keep living in the abyss of darkness. The contrast can be equal. Those birds feared the storms,  the instability of this patch of air that had become their safe house, and the terrible weather that betides every once in a while.  

When the heavens send out a hurricane, living beings have no choice but to stay indoors. Sometimes, their physical bodies are not the only ones who remain inside, but also their minds. Birds can fly amidst disasters; however, it takes a lot of energy to do so. It will be tiring, dangerous, and why would they anyway? Shelterless beings with a slim chance of survival, so they hide in dense forests. Unfortunately, that is where they get caught. Either face death in daring to cross the storms, or face isolation in weary environments. When the skies collapse and crumble and vanish into nothingness, where else will they go but disappear along? 

]]> The Land Of Rocks /the-land-of-rocks/ Fri, 13 May 2022 08:22:19 +0000 /?p=6885

Francesca Plabasan

Author

Anya Tiglao

Graphic Artist

The Land Of Rocks

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Once, in a land far from all human civilization, twenty rocks settled themselves on the lush and high grass of the fields. The rocks were dull, unpolished, and rough. Imperfect. Laying idly by a blue flowing stream, they were motionless, unbothered by the sweltering heat of the sun. Whenever a powerful gust of wind blew, they were stationary, unmoving. No force of nature could crack nor move the rocks. Their dull and lifeless grays contrasted sharply with the bright greens of fertile land they stood on. But, they were content with survival there. They had everything they could ever need.

But then twenty rocks became forty, and forty became sixty, and the rocks soon became a hundred in number. Many more traveled the lands to settle in the lush fields, away from the violence of warring humans. As the community of rocks grew, so did their desire for a leader. Someone who could unite, lead, and guide them. The rocks saw what had happened with the humans: they had selfish, flawed, and greedy leaders. Every single empire that rose in power and glory soon came crumbling to the ground, reduced to dust and rubble, a far cry from what they once had been: mighty and invincible. The rocks were determined to be different from those humans; if they didn’t learn from their mistakes, surely the rocks could.

So they sought the perfect leader: wise and competent, but compassionate. Everything a leader was supposed to embody. Everything a leader had to be. They were consumed by their ideals: a picture perfect leader with no faults or flaws. It sparkled so bright in their minds that it blinded them. They assessed and investigated each of the hundred rocks, but every single one of them had a flaw. One was too kind, another too strict, many crumbled under pressure, some too happy-go-lucky, a few too shy. By the end of the so-called evaluation, no one had passed the rocks’ standards for a leader. They were miserable.

But one day, as they were wallowing in their own despair at the lack of a leader, a gem arrived at their settlement. A diamond. A fine, blue, dazzling thing. It was smaller than the rocks, but when the light of the sun struck the diamond, the glare was so stunning that the rocks believed that the diamond was their salvation. It was magnificent. It was beautiful.

Under the diamond’s leadership, they thought they thrived. The diamond ordered them to lay beneath the sun all day, to bathe in its warmth so that its light might touch the rocks and make them sparkle too. When night fell, the diamond ordered them to polish themselves to prepare for another day of sun. The rocks simply obeyed the diamond without question. After all, it was everything they needed. It was a leader.

The daily routine continued over and over and over again. Slowly, the rocks started to become skeptical of the diamond. Its only orders were to lay in the sun and polish, day and night. They did not sparkle. It was tedious and frustrating; frankly, some of the rocks began to question the diamond’s leadership. Melancholy descended and though the sun shone upon them daily, it was ultimately darkness that engulfed them. The council of elderly rocks were perplexed. The diamond was supposed to be their guiding light, their savior, their leader. Instead, they were even more lost than they already were, plunged in the deepest sea of ennui. The path they set out for themselves became a blur, an uncertainty. They were sure it was a smooth path they had to cross. Now, they are in the haunted forests of the deep, with many more raging seas to conquer, more tall, towering mountains to climb, and more battles that they had to win.

It was on a faithful summer day that one of the council members witnessed something utterly fascinating. A small group of rocks had defected from their community. It had decided to spy on them, to see for itself if the rumors were true. Instead of a dead society, it saw a community that was flourishing, even more alive than the fertile land around them, under the leadership of another rock, no less. The sharp rocks made useful tools, flat rocks were built into equipment, rough rocks grinded, and smooth rocks adorned. The big rocks stood as walls while the small rocks became pebbles. The council member saw firsthand how rocks prospered for the first time.

Something clicked. A late realization, a breath of fresh air, an epiphany, a eureka moment. This community’s leader was a rock, not a diamond. They didn’t need a sparkly gem; they needed an unpolished rock. They needed a leader, but they didn’t need to be guided. They needed someone to fight the battles with them. They were not made to glitter under the sun; they were no gems. They were rocks.

The rock didn’t sparkle like the diamond, but they were someone who understood. So, the diamond found another community of diamonds and other precious gems, no hard feelings at all. In fact, it even became a friend to them. The rocks didn’t find someone perfect – they knew now that perfection was unattainable. They just needed someone who could help them become the best rocks they could. Their new leader didn’t glint when the sun’s rays hit it, nor was it polished or perfect.

But, it sharpened the sharp rocks, built using the flat rocks, grinded using the rough rocks, decorated using the smooth rocks, protected using the big rocks, and made pebbles with the small rocks. Because of this, the settlement thrived. The rocks were still as dull in color as they were before—a sharp contrast to the vivid colors that surrounded them in the fields, but they weren’t lifeless at all. When their leader understood them, inspired them to be better, and said that they had a purpose in the world, the entire settlement sparkled brighter than any precious gem. They shone.

A true leader is someone who understands what it’s like to struggle and suffer. It understands the reality of those it leads. A true leader doesn’t shine above the rest; it finds the light in others and teaches them to shine, too. Don’t choose the gems. Choose the dull rocks. Choose someone who isn’t perfect. Choose someone real.

]]> The Fruit Of Defiance Defining Love​ /the-fruit-of-defiance-defining-love%e2%80%8b/ Tue, 19 Apr 2022 12:00:58 +0000 /?p=6589

Patricia Bansil

Author

Una Villano

Layout Artist

The Fruit of Defiance Defining Love

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Forbidden fruit on the hill, tenacity in evil or tenacity in love?

A saturnine setting of sun bedimming as heaven shakes above

The weight of sin falls on the lovers’ shoulders, one bite had done enough

But tell me, past the seventh day of creation, was the decision a dream undreamed of?

“Then you shall be as gods,” six syllables the serpent stated

And her five light fingers picked the fruit from the tree to defy what was dictated

She was caught on the carrefour of the choice and chance this proposal created

And the three by the tree stood, by the promise, entranced and sedated

Two took bite of humanity’s downfall and so it, too, was fated

The exile, the anger, the wrath punishment along with the storm soon abated

I have loved you enough that the fall from grace results in apathy

And the fruit of knowledge simply comes as sweet as your warmth to me

I have loved you as him who wanted to behold her in every perspective he can see

I have loved you as her who yearned for truth and took the chance dauntlessly

I have loved you as it who couldn’t wish to leave them behind, both naive and unfree

I am the desire that you could not tame, that tempted you to that tree

And from our love bloomed the fall of man,

The closed gates of the garden as the master turned his other hand

They all say I have given you a love in arrogance

So hold me as we walk toward the barren lands

I want to worship you in the familiarity of evil and in spite of it

To dance in the suffering our love has dared commit

I wish not to love you encaged in the perfect paradise we never earned but won

We have found our love as we lost our Eden, and our banishment cannot be undone

]]> Fortsatt Ti /fortsatt-ti/ Fri, 08 Apr 2022 14:07:14 +0000 /?p=6553

Jayvielyn Santos

Author

Caitlin Castillo

Graphic Artist

Fortsatt ti

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Woke up in a choking bliss

The gold rushing to touch lenses

Smell of longing that I’d forever miss

Recalling the past from my broken senses

It all started with a simple dream

Looking up from dominating papers

Words weren’t scattered here, an old scheme

The dream of someday reaching skyscrapers

Year I was a decade old, felt hell-bound

The month that Notes roamed our premises

Spreading and gathering news around

Path that led me to all her promises

Eliza wrote stories and literaries

Young me, captivated by her strong opinions

I was glad that Notes started all these

As if I’m its puppet — a mere minion

As years passed by, I didn’t realize

Noticed I wasn’t the only one inspired

The paper stepping stones now marbleized

Talents shared through writings admired

Every moment that passed was astonishing

Achievements highlighted with proud screams

 Pieces that caught eyes, oh so charming!

Another phase with a different theme

That very moment I touched the gates

Knew that water would fall from skies

As steps led me to a familiar fate

Hiding this feeling is the hardest I’ll try

Saw moments that turned to memories

Tasted everything I missed turned to ashes

Returning after years was my enemy

Every single bit of her that flashes

Been a decade since my heart was caught

Feeling happiness that I gave her my all

Always imagined what if I stayed and fought

Hoped I looked to be able to see her in sol

Begging for it to last, not to end so suddenly

Wanted to stop the dashing lights

Last look that made my eyes widen

It was never easy then, surviving the nights

Currently held close a new print I savor

 Nostalgia of the papers that brought us in

Reached a decade, now onto forever

Now that I am twenty and Eliza is still ten.

]]> Of Mouse And Man /of-mouse-and-man/ Tue, 15 Mar 2022 08:00:11 +0000 /?p=6577

Penelope Wong

Author

Ryza Vasquez

Graphic Artist

Of Mouse And Man

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From a small opening tucked into the corners of a great room emerges a mouse, a skittish and twitching figure. Scurrying into the room with towering walls that reach out towards the heavens itself, the expanse of ground dotted with shimmering waters whose depths it can barely fathom. The landscape, embellished with exotic fronds and great towering leaves. 

Truly, the land was unlike anything the poor country mouse had ever seen. Its walls rise to the heavens yet are exempt from the unforgiving sun. The water is impossibly deep, yet its surface is clear. A sweet fragrance permeates the air; the mouse looks around to see branches drooping downwards heavy with fruit. The mouse weeps and cries out: “Paradise! Oh I’ve been cleansed and permitted entry!”

As the mouse tredges on, wishing to seek his creator in paradise, it meets three curious characters that will define this tale. Firstly, it meets paths with a rat. A familiar face, “though we are very different creatures in truth,” the mouse thinks. Rats were low and vile. 

Regardless, the mouse calls out to ask: “Where is the center, and where do I find the maker himself?”

The rat was frenzied and clamoring, evidently fleeing this place, yet the mouse was blocking its path. “Where does this path head?” the mouse asks. “I’ve been here for some time and frankly, I’ve got no idea how to make my way through all this.”

“Abandon all hope ye who enter here,” the rat cries out and overcomes the poor mouse with its frenzied strength. “You must have something that could help me!” No further response could be elicited from the rat. The dust in the space it’s inhabited, settling.

The mouse parries on, little feet taking its voyage one foot after the other. At every point on the path as it seeks something, what it’s searching for is right there in reach. Once thirst parches its throat, immediately a fresh spring emerges down the corner. As fatigue rears its ugly head, a comfortable shade falls over the plane.

Next, hours along its journey, it meets paths with a rabbit standing proud and dignified. Rabbits, who take pride in their swiftness, yet another familiar creature. Once again the mouse asks: “Where is the center, and where do I find the maker himself?”. 

“Well, I’ve traveled far, seen all there is to see of this vast land. I tell you, it’s beautiful, really! But once you’ve had your taste of everything, you’d soon be seeking more. What you’ve seen so far? That’s all there is to it, here.”

Taking in the freely spoken words of the rabbit, the mouse began: “If things are truly as you say, all this time I’ve been trying to find its center.” The rabbit scoffs at that, yet the mouse continues: “I suppose you’ve been lonely lately; perhaps you’d fancy a little bit of company, and we might find something new together.”

The unseemly pair head together deeper into the towering stalks. With each path they take, and every corner they turn, each stray piece of foliage is impeccably designed, each frond carefully set in place in a way that is uncanny, artificial, and utilitarian. Stalks all sharp corners trimmed to equal, pleasing heights. The place begins to feel less like a paradise and more like a carefully crafted room encased in film. Stifling and claustrophobic.

The pair comes to stand upon a little dock, with artificially clear waters stretching out into the horizon. A wave disturbs the stillness, and before them is a flurry of movement. Fast approaching and growing larger, a behemoth koi fish rearing its head through the waters, writhing as if maddened and maddened as if in pain. 

As the koi makes its impact with the dock, the pair are thrown out into the air. The mouse into its agonized gaping mouth, the rabbit landing clumsily onto the water’s surface. It swims out into currents to save its companion, yet its efforts are in vain. 

Firstly, the mouse notes the splash of water hitting its fur. Then the cold, sticky wetness of being swallowed whole. The sensation of falling into the koi’s stomach follows. Frenzied, it clamors to get out from the hold of the muscular walls enveloping it. The cavern smells of decaying hide, all sorts of culture mingling in rot. Embedding within you the distinct smell of putrefaction. 

The koi itself is close to death, in its final stages of consumption, and as it wretches and heaves, pushing its innards out, the mouse finds its escape as the koi expires and bursts with a sigh. 

Swimming away from a watery grave alongside its captor, it manages to escape closer to shore and it spots a lotus stalk, a dry oceanic oasis. The mouse climbs the stalk, for it is the only thing to tether oneself on. In its tiredness, the stalk seems to stretch downwards from heaven, its height insurmountable. Salvation is a paw’s breadth away.

The mouse stands at the summit, delicate petals beneath its tired paws. It is finally at the center, the heart of the domain. The mouse has seen god and is. 

Before it, a panorama of carnage, of mice maimed and pained. The stalks remain indifferent, wafting the same perfume. The mouse is rendered still and contemplates its next step.

]]> The Comfort In Nihilism /the-comfort-in-nihilism/ Tue, 15 Feb 2022 11:00:08 +0000 /?p=6564

Colleen Consorio

Author

Ryza Vasquez

Graphic Artist

The Comfort In Nihilism

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Nothing really matters.

you may find this sentiment unsettling

after all, you have been through a lot.

sleepless nights scrambling to finish countless projects

numerous acts of love you wish you could frame

untold battles you’ve struggled to stand atop as the victor

all unbeknownst to the several people who coexist with you

to the multitude of people who have lived before you

and to the infinite amount of people who will live after you

Nothing has been more cruel and comforting.

as the tides of time will soon hold onto you with no remorse

it’ll all hiss and whittle away between our fingers

still, there is the glint of delight in the release of all the pain and shame

that our actions will soon shine as stars that have died

that our everything will soon lose its shape;

when all ends, we are the sole witness to our measly life

and—well—the question tugs at your brain a bit too much:

is there any point in doing any of this?

Even so, I am at peace.

as long as night and day are in constant embrace

there is no reason to juggle qualms

when the planets keep spinning on my permanent absence

the life we are given may flimsily hold its value

but as long as love from other measly lives fill our hearts

then perhaps we are all meant to be fools lost in time

there is nothing that holds you back;

leave the remnants of an unapologetic life

]]> Darkness Brighter Than Light /darkness-brighter-than-light/ Tue, 15 Feb 2022 11:00:04 +0000 /?p=6506

Seth Andrei Plata

Author

Anya Jazmine Tiglao

Graphic Artist

Darkness Brighter Than Light

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It’s been a long day.

You thought as you finished your last piece of homework for the day. Drowsy, you turn off your bedroom lights, fall into bed, and slip into the warmth of your blanket. It doesn’t take much time until your weary eyes start wandering into the darkness—the seemingly endless void around you. Nothing but pitch black, almost as if you were alone in your own dimension.

You felt, well, disconnected.

It’s only a matter of seconds until you reach out your hand out into the darkness, trying to feel out a small rectangular figure on your bedside table. You find and grab this small handheld device and hold it up in front of your face.

Click.

The phone glows, lighting up your room. Immediately, you’re greeted by a bunch of notifications that are only there to hook you in: a variety of pop-ups ranging from message notifications to posts you absolutely cannot miss. You let out a small sigh as you give in to its temptation and start tapping away.

It suddenly felt like all your worries were washed away; you were scrolling through your feed, going through videos to your heart’s content, and browsing the endless sea of content the internet has to offer. It felt so surreal. You managed to relate to each post, laugh at every joke, and be entertained by everything.

Everything.

That being said, your weary eyes widened and your yawns were postponed, all because you felt a little more connected. It felt as if a void was being filled—the same way that small smartphone, that can fit in the palm of your hands, lights up your room of nothingness.

You kept scrolling, desperate to feel belongingness, but after what felt like the hundredth video and the thousandth post, it just wasn’t doing it for you anymore. Still, you continue to scroll even further, hoping that you’ll find the same satisfaction you had when you first picked up your phone. Before you knew it, you got stuck in a trance.

You have no clue how much time has passed, and an even lesser idea of how far you’ve scrolled. Mindlessly staring into the screen, not once do you even bother taking your eyes off it. It was almost like you were stuck in a similar but radically different void, only this time it’s not a void of darkness but a void of light. Perhaps, that’s exactly what it is?

The internet is designed to keep you on it; it understands what interests you, and will only show that to keep you entertained. This is what gives you that sense of connectedness, what makes you feel like you belong.

Although you can absolutely use it to seek refuge, you have to be careful not to get lost in the infinitely stretching world of the internet. You quickly realize how far you’ve wandered into this dimension of light, and how you’re starting to lose sight of everything. It then becomes clear to you that light may be what fills the darkness, but to an extent that same light can also be blinding, essentially making your world darker than it would have been in the absence of it…

Light can fill an empty space.

But, would you really say that your filled space is no longer empty?

You hit the power button on your phone, and your room is once again swallowed by darkness. Except for this time, it felt a lot brighter than you thought it would be.

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