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Segue (UP Panitikan Literary folio)

Segue (UP Panitikan Literary folio)

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Published by JoanneLara

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Published by: JoanneLara on Apr 03, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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April 2011 
What’s inside?
Like Mother like daughter / 2
Magkaparis / 4A pen in your hand / 7 Behind her smile / 8UP Panitikan Visuals / 10and more...
I never felt a mother‘s
love. Not even once didI get to experience thewarm sensation of a
mother‘s accepting hug
nor did I get to hearher kind and compas-sionate words. It wouldbe hypocritical of me to
say that I didn‘t get
jealous of other kidswhen I see them runand cry to their momsbecause someone bul-lied them and then themom goes rushing likea superhero to defendthem. I always wishedthat there would alsobe a mom that wouldpraise my work even
though it‘s obviously
short of retarded, amom who would tell me
I‘m beautiful when oth-
ers call me ugly, a momwho would cheer me up
whenever I‘m in de-
spair. But, you know,as years pass by, youkind of get the hang of not having someone tocall mommy. Not to get
confused though, it‘s
not that my mother
abandoned me nor I‘m
just insensitive to feelher love
—it‘s just that Ididn‘t have a mother in
the first place.My mother died whenI was just a baby. Manysay that what she didwas heroic but I said,especially while I wasgrowing up, that shewas just a selfish bitchwanting others accep-tance and recognition
‗til the very end of her
short-lived existenceand letting me survivealone, unwanted andmiserable. But let usnot dwell on the pastfor my past is full of darkness and negativ-ities that it could engulf the flickering hope Ihave, the flickeringhope that I hold uponso dearly, the flickeringray of light that I nowpass on.You know, I really
didn‘t believe in people
who claim they had anear-death experiencewhen they go on sayingthat towards the end of 
one‘s life, you replay
your life in fast forward- that sort of thing hap-pens only in movies.But now I believe withfull certainty that theywere not kidding. Infact, when I felt the in-describable pain of myheart ceasing to bet,my systems failing andthe struggle to breathemy last and as the lightwas seemingly beingsucked up by black-ness, I was transportedto the that place wherememories came flood-ing me- and incredibly,only in that precise mo-ment, I began to real-ize, only in that mo-ment did I cry.I wept for the veryfirst time, not for my-self, but for my mother.Like me, she also musthave been shocked anddepressed when she feltthe appalling signs butnot having anyone totell to. She must havefelt helpless when shehad fever that went onfor weeks. When theblisters and lesions thatnever healed slowlyspread throughout hisbody, she might havewished death. She musthave been terrified butshe chose to prolong heragony for my sake.
I was lucky I didn‘t in-
herit the disease, but Iwas equally foolishenough to contract it. Butwho am I to blame?Should I lay the burden
on the fact that I didn‘t
have a family toenlighten me? No. I waspromiscuous. My motherwas not. I just wish mydaughter would forgiveme for falling under thesame faith as my mother.I look at her now,beautiful, innocent. Buthave I given her thecurse? I have no way of knowing. I only can askfor her forgiveness,though she could not giveit to me at this momentand I doubt if she couldgive it to me tomorrow.She might hate me likethe way I despised mymother. I would under-stand. I cast on you, mylast wish, my only hopethat your future be betterthough I could not bethere to kiss, hug andguide you. I will commitall the same mistakes of not being there and willcause you the same pain,bitterness or grudge thatI felt for not having amother
my apologies,the least I can managefor you is do what mymother, your grandma,did for me. But for now, Idepart. #
Like Mother Like Daughter
Dick Penisi
totoo ngang di biromaging inasa trabaho mo'y pa-god na ngapag uwi, pamilya'yaalalahanin paminsan talaga parangako'y suko nangunit pag narinig naang halakhakng aking mapagmahalna mga anaklahat ng pagod ay tilanaglalahomistulang gumagaangang dinadala konoon ay puro pagka-muhi ang nadaramanoong iniwan kami ngkanilang amahindi ko alam ang ak-ing gagawindi alam kung paanoko sila bubuhayinsalamat at sadyangmabait ang langitunti unti ay nawalaang paitaming nairaos angpang araw arawat naging maayos na-man ang aming bu-haymadalas nakakapa-god, madalas na-kakasawapero lahat ay kakaya-nin para sa pamilyabagamat hindi biromagtaguyod mag isabawi na lahat makitalang ang ngiti nila #
Mula saisang ina
baliw na payaso
Working Mom
Ang kama'y mapang-akitmaputi't malambothatid sayo'y pan-gako'sang gabing ligaya'lang oras ng pagli-motsandaling paglayang pagod na kata-wan #
BabaeIsang likhang kapitapita-gan
Ang likha‘y kapitapita-
gan;Isang obrang walangkapantay,
Ang obra‘y walang ka-
pantay.Tumikwas ang kanyangkamay,Sa marmol ay humaplosAt ang malamig na ba-
to‘y nabuhay;
 Huminga, sumigaw, sadamdamin umaapaw,Ang konkretong dati aypatay.Isang kaluluwang maku-lay,Siyang nag-ihip ng kalu-luwang may kulay;Pula, asul, luntian, dilawIba-ibang kulay sa kan-bas isinaboyIba-
ibang larawan, iba‘t
ibang galaw.Makapigil-hininga, gan-yan siya;Makapigil-hininga angkanyang likhang pigura.Oh makabagong Eba,
paano‘t ika‘y naging
isang biyaya?
Gawa‘y matayog bagkus
kamay ay marikit.
Likha‘y bantog subalit
ang manlilikha'y nakaku-bli.BabaeIsang likhang kapitapita-gan
Ang likha‘y kapitapita-
gan;Isang obrang walangkapantay
Ang obra‘y walang ka-
pantay. #
ni withtact 
And she bit her lip,drawing aside her brushfor the nth time.The blank canvasstared at her.
Taunting me with itswhollyness,
she thoughtas she fiddled with herbrush, tapping it againstthe range of colors mess-ily assorted beside her. Ithad been past four whenshe sat on this exactchair, looking at the sameblasted thing and now itwas almost seven and she
hadn‘t even started any-
thing yet.It was just one of thoseordinary days in the uni-versity where the sun washigh, sweat was crawlingunderneath the blouseshe wore and her armswere practically beggingher to drop off the load of books she was carryingwhen she saw that lonepiece of paper tacked onthe bulletin board.Her father was laugh-ing in disbelief when shesaid that she announcedone night when they werehaving dinner that shewould enter an art com-petition. Poking furiouslyon her potatoes and car-rots, she listened on howher father ranted aboutthe ridiculousness of heridea and continued on histalking of his latest ex-hibit. Yes, he was a painter.Yes, he was an absolutebrilliant painter. And yes,
she didn‘t inherit her fa-ther‘s prowess.
 Sometimes she wonderedif it was because of the Lawof Dominance (a topic shehad somehow begrudinglylistened to on her Geneticsclass) that made her fa-
ther‘s talent in arts reces-
sive on her. Or maybe it
was because she hadn‘t ex-
erted any effort when mani-
festing her ―works‖ into
physical form.On actuality, she knewCubism, Art Nouveau, Sur-realism and all those fancyart movements that pul-sated the 19th and 20thcentury, what colors to use,the shapes and forms for-mulating in her mind, butwhen face in front of paperand pencil or with any artmedium, she was as dumbas the class dunce.
Theory without prac-tice,
her professor wouldsay while shaking his head.
Maybe she wasn‘t as en-
thusiastic as his father waswhen it came to arts, butshe knew she had that in-nate passion inside her thatwas slowly growing eachday, burning her with itsigniting flame.While she was taking abreak from her futile jour-ney into finishing her art,somehow she had un-earthed some oldsketchbooks of hers storedin their attic.So many pages of lines,shapes and undefined color-ing that spoke so much of her childhood days. Some-times she drew of rain, peo-ple with undescribablefaces, and her own menag-erie of the seven-year-oldmind. The nostalgic feelingleft a smile on her face asshe traced each figure, eachmark and mess that shemade and this lifted the pileof self-pity she was carryingon her back.All along, she knew howto draw after all.The competition held anexhibit in lieu of the winnersand the other contestants.And there, on the wall, washer masterpiece. A paintingof a canvass with a girl sit-ting drawn on it, slowlycreeping out of the frameupwards, exploding andblooming into a hundred of different colors and shapes.
―Out of the box‖ was the
title.It won 1st place. #
Awkward Steps to Picasso
by Bart

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