i

ii
Pagkalinga Paggunita Pagninilay

Ikatlong bolyum ng PGH Human Spirit Project

i
ii
 PAGNINILAY
Hinga, Hingal, at Hingalo sa Panahon ng Pandemya

Joey A. Tabula
Alvin B. Caballes
Noel P. Pingoy

Mga Editor

UNIVERSITY OF THE PHILIPPINES MANILA

iii
 Karapatang-sipi © 2020 University of the Philippines Manila

Unang Limbag Disyembre 2020

ISBN: 978-621-454-006-0

Reserbado ang lahat ng karapatan. Walang bahagi ng aklat na ito ang maaaring sipiin o gamitin sa alinmang
paraan nang walang pahintulot mula sa may-akda at tagapaglathala.

Inilathala ng University of the Philippines Manila

iv
May isang ibong maganda
ang pangalan ay Adarna,
cun marinig mong magcantá
ang saquít mo’i, guiguinhaua.

—mula sa “Ibong Adarna”

v
 Nilalaman

Paunang-salita Danilo L. Concepcion i

Introduksiyon Joey A. Tabula v

vi
Hinga
Almusal Express Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado 2
Ang Pinakamakinang na Korona Kristoffer Aaron G Tiña 3
How to Survive the Lockdown Danton Remoto 5
Ha Panahon han COBID-19 / In the Time of COVID-19 Victor N. Sugbo 10
Locked Down Lines Jose Velando Ogatis-I 12
The Smell of Menudo Cheeno Marlo Sayuno 16
Ano ang Ginagawa Natin Fermin Salvador 24
Reconnecting in Disconnections Lisa S. Traboco 27
D I S T A N C I N G Hannah Paguila 28
Faith Jeremy Cordero 31
Liham kay Inay sa Gitna ng Pandemya Kenneth G. Samala 33
Lahat Tayo’y Nasa Delantera Fermin Salvador 34
Ang Kredo ng mga Frontliner sa Bagong Normal Ronald Law 36
PPE Elvie Victonette B. Razon-Gonzalez 38
My Sister’s Vocation Ma. Jhayle Ann Marie Z. Meer 40
Rauch, Breath Hansel B. Mapayo 41
Realities of the Outside(rs) Jasmine Arcilla 42
Story of a COVID-19 Survivor Alvina Pauline D. Santiago 46
My Rock Balancing Act Today Cesar G. Aljama 48
Tick Tock Lourdes Dominique R. Panganiban 51
To Shave Off My Beard Glenn Tek-ing Muñez 52
Zita: A Pandemic and a Little Hope Genesy Timonera 54
In the Next Room Vincen Gregory Yu 60
Kasaysayan Paul Alcoseba Castillo 61

vii
 Hingal

Ang Konstruksiyon ng Emerhensiya Kristoffer B. Berse 64

O Mr. President, sa Classroom may Batas Dakila Cutab 66
“Sasampalin ko ‘yang COVID” (isang COVID-llanelle) Dakila Cutab 67
Utos Orland Agustin Solis 70
Breakage Ralph Fonte 72
Pula Orland Agustin Solis 75
Lockdown Paul Alcoseba Castillo 76
Lockdown Marketing Ferdinand Pisigan Jarin 78
Distansiya Paul Alcoseba Castillo 80
Pagpapakilala Jose Monfred C. Sy 82
Di Na Kita Kilala, Umaga Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. 84
Stricken by a Joke at the Dinner Table Ma. Jhayle Ann Marie Z. Meer 86
Kamunsil Ferdinand Pisigan Jarin 88
Hope Jeremy Cordero 89
Mas Mainam ang Pagod Fermin Salvador 90
Magsinungaling sa Sarili Kung Mag-isa Joel F. Ariate, Jr. 92
Ang Ating Tag-init Joel F. Ariate, Jr. 94
Bukas na Bote ng Alkohol ang Aking Katinuan Joel F. Ariate, Jr. 96
Paghabol sa Balintunay Eric Abalajon 98
Ambo Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado 99
Eyes Bryan Mari Argos 101
Kansion ni Lakay Indong R.B. Abiva 102
Last Will, Testament, and Endorsements Wilfredo Liangco 104
Ili-ili Lolo Bryan Mari Argos 106

viii
Hingalo
Oratio Imperata Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. 110
New Normal Dexter Reyes 112
Sa Pitumpu’t Walong Araw Sofia Angela Federico 114
Kalatas Pagkatapos ng Ganap sa Sitio Roque R.B. Abiva 117
Aksiyon Orland Agustin Solis 118
Ang Bagong Kamatayan Joel F. Ariate, Jr. 120
Huling Hininga Kenneth G. Samala 122
Aquarium Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado 123
Sa Hanging Di Siya ang Lumikha Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. 124
Why Kites Fall Jhio Jan A. Navarro 125
Ayuda Paul Alcoseba Castillo 126
Pútong Dakila Cutab 128
Mga Gamugamo Kristoffer Aaron G. Tiña 129
Apat na Diona para sa Nasira Dexter Reyes 130
Abo Eileen Villegas 131
Backline Paul Alcoseba Castillo 133
Uslî Eileen Villegas 134
Kahit Di Pa Huli ang Lahat Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. 136
Body Politic Mark Angeles 138

Mga Kontribyutor 141

Mga Editor 149

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x
Paunang-salita
The University of the Philippines, as the national university, has been rising magnificently to the challenges of the
COVID-19 pandemic. Harnessing the expertise of its academic and scientific community, the university’s response
has been timely, integrated, relevant, and sustained.

Every constituent unit, every sector, and every member of the UP community has demonstrated and continues to
demonstrate incredible courage, resourcefulness, intelligence, selflessness, and compassion. Our scientists have used
their knowledge to help their fellow Filipinos. Our medical and health practitioners, including our interns, are serving
heroically at the frontlines of this war. Our faculty are exploring new ways and alternative platforms to fulfill their
mission to impart learning and continue teaching, no matter the circumstances.

The “PGH Human Spirit” book captures the efforts, struggles, experiences, fears, and hopes of the members of our
community during the crisis.

The publication is meant not just for posterity but also to highlight the strength of the human spirit, the courage and
tenacity of the human soul in dealing with the crisis. The books are meant to serve as guide and inspiration for all of
us, for our fellow Filipinos who journeyed with us amid the adversity. Specifically, this volume entitled “Pagninilay”
mirrors their innermost feelings and insights, their hopes in the ability of our country and our people to rise and
overcome in the midst of turmoil, to keep connected to one another and help each other grapple with our own
experiences, and make sense of the pandemic.

The designation of the Philippine General Hospital as a COVID-19 referral center was one of the most difficult
decisions we made, but it is proving to be a most rewarding one. Specific implementing measures consisted of the
creation of a Crisis Management Team to ensure operational efficiency; the COVID Transfer Command Center to
facilitate the ingress and egress of patients in PGH; the Information Education Committee to disseminate guidelines
and advisories, reminders, and appeals; and a Logistics Team for acquisition and appropriation of needs.

i
 Hospital wards were retrofitted for the needs and conditions for managing cases, such as ensuring efficient
and natural unidirectional air exchange and zoning of COVID and non-COVID areas with unidirectional
donning and doffing areas of personal protection equipment.

With PGH at the center of efforts on health care delivery and patient care for COVID-19 cases, we initiated
the setting up of the UPPGH Bayanihan Na! Operations Center to respond to patient and donation
inquiries. This mechanism has evolved into a teleconsulting system for PGH outpatients, the Online
Consultation and Registration and Appointment System (OCRA). Credit goes to the editors and writers
for allotting one volume to chronicle the experiences and lessons gained by the center’s volunteers. Our
statistical experts contributed and continue to help in the projections and data needed for a more effective
national program and response planning through the OCRA and our faculty’s participation in national level
consultations and dialogues.

Researcher-scientists have generated and applied new technologies, developed devices, trained health and
laboratory personnel, developed new learning and reference materials, and responded to the other basic
needs of Filipinos by searching for cures for this novel illness.

Let us also remember how our students, alumni, and campus residents participated by using their training
to build sanitation tents for public use, or by donating food and supplies to fellow members of the UP
community in need, or by campaigning for support for our doctors, nurses and health centers, or by simply
doing what they can to educate, to ease people’s burdens, and uplift their spirits.

A lot of effort went towards generating the resources needed to do our work and to forge ahead. But all
of us must draw on our deepest intellectual, emotional, and spiritual resources to cope with the growing
challenges we face. As we care for our students, we care for our faculty and staff; and their well-being must
be secured in all our policies and actions.

ii
Faculty members and students have been adapting well to the need to shift to
blended and remote educational learning approaches and making modifications
in the students’ laboratory, field, and clinical training.

We are blessed to have a dedicated team of strong and flexible faculty, a

hardworking group of fellows and residents, and supportive officials to fight
a virus that little was known about at the start and which is still evolving up
to now. But we are inspired by our shared goal of conquering all the odds and
defeating the virus in all the roles and tasks we are mandated to do.

I would like to express my sincere gratitude and appreciation to all of you for
your amazing response to this crisis—a global situation the likes of which we
have not seen in our lifetime. We have set aside face-to-face classes and other
campus activities, adopted a combined scheme of work from home and skeletal
force in our workplaces, and stayed inside our homes and complied with safety
protocols; all to contain the spread of the coronavirus and keep our healthcare
system from being overwhelmed.

Through this collective journey, you have all been an inspiration to us. Indeed,
“Ang iskolar ng bayan ay tunay na maaasahan.”

Be assured that we will keep moving forward as one UP community. We will

continue to harness the expertise of the country’s premier community of
scholars to make thoughtful and informed decisions. We will support your
efforts to help yourselves, your families and your communities. Together, we
will emerge stronger, better, and more united than ever.

iii
 Ating tandaan na ang panahon ng krisis ay hindi lamang isang
masamang panaginip. Ito rin ay isang mabuting pagkakataon upang
tayo ay lalong magpunyagi, magpakahusay, at makapaglingkod
sa bayan. Isabuhay natin ang diwa ng UP, ang pagkakaisa, ang
paglilingkod nang buong husay at dangal, at patunayan natin na
walang hangganan ang pagaambag ng ating Unibersidad at ng
kanyang mga alumni sa paghahanap at paglalapat ng mga epektibong
alternatibo at solusyon sa anumang suliranin.

Inaasahan kong sa pamamagitan ng ating mga nakaatang na gawain

sa panahong ito, patuloy nating ibabangon ang ating bayan mula
sa lusak ng trahedyang ito. Patuloy nating gamitin nang wasto ang
karunungang Tatak UP. Buong giting at husay nawa nating gampanan
ang pagiging mabuting Pilipino, na may utak at puso para sa kapwa at
para sa bayan.

Danilo L. Concepcion
President, University of the Philippines

iv
Introduksiyon
Awit ng Ibong Adarna sa Panahon ng Pandemya
Sumapit ang hindi inaasahang pangyayari sa mundo. Mulang Wuhan, China, sumabog na isang pandemya
ang isang nakahahawang sakit mula sa SARS coronavirus 2 noong Marso 2020. Nagsimula ang kuwarentena.
Nagsara ang mga hanggahan ng mga bansa, ang mga paliparan at piyer. Pinahinto ang mga tren, bus, at
dyipni. Nawalan ng trabaho ang milyon-milyong Filipino. Bumagsak ang ekonomiya. Nataranta ang mga
ospital at opisyal ng gobyerno. Mababalitaang pumanaw ang ilang doktor, nars, at iba pang manggagawang
pangkalusugan. Pinigilang lumabas ng bansa ang mga nars na pumunta sa kanilang mga bagong trabaho
sa ibang bansa para may maipanggasta sa kanilang pamilya. Pinagsuot ng face mask at face shield ang mga
tao. Patay ang mga kalsada, mala-Biyernes Santo. Nagkalat ang fake news para sa gamot para sa COVID-19.
Sinamantala ng mga oportunista ang pagbebenta ng kung ano-anong likido, pildura, o pausok, tuob. Marami
ang takot at lito sa pandemya. Dahil dito, marami ang kaydaling nanalig sa mga fake news ng mabuting balita
at namamakyaw ng kung anong nakapagpapagaling daw ng COVID-19.

Habang sinasaliksik ng agham ang mabisa at ligtas na gamot at bakuna laban sa SARS-CoV-2, abala ang
sining upang maibsan at maalwan ang mga labis o totoong peligro ng COVID-19. Ganito naman talaga.
Kung saan nagtatapos ang hanggahan ng Agham ng Medisina, doon nananahan ang pinakapuso ng bisa ng
Sining. Ang hindi kayang mapuksa ng utak ng agham ay malalapatan ng paunang-lunas ng puso ng sining, ng
panitikan.

Ganito ang kuwento sa koridong Ibong Adarna. Awit ng mahiwagang ibon ang nakapagpagaling sa sakit
ng Haring Don Fernando ng Kahariang Berbanya. Ganitong maituturing ang mga tula at sanaysay sa
antolohiyang ito. Ito ang awit na nakapagpapagaling! Ang manunulat ang Ibong Adarna mula sa punong
Piedras Platas sa bundok ng Tabor. Ito din ang awit na nakapagpapadalaw ng di-mahihindiang antok sa
maiitim ang budhi tulad nina Don Pedro at Don Diego. Mahihiwatigan na ang mga akdang naririto ay bukal
ng pag-asa at ng protesta. Protesta ang ipot ng Ibong Adarna na himalang ginagawang bato ang mga taong
kasuklam-suklam, lalo yaong mga nasa posisyon ng kapangyarihan na walang ibang ginawa kundi isisi sa

v
 karaniwang mamamayan ang pagkalat ng pandemya. Ito din ang ipot laban sa tokhang, extrajudicial killings, at
mababang pasuweldo at kasumpa-sumpang (kawalan ng) hazard pay para sa mga frontliner.

Seryoso ang bolyum na ito. Kaya naman may pangalawa itong titulo—Hinga, Hingal, Hingalo. Hindi bastang
pagninilay ang mga akdang ito kundi isa ding pagtugon sa isang panawagan ng bayan. Minsang naikomento ni
Dr. Alvin Caballes na pawang masyadong malungkutin at walang-pag-asa ang himig ng koleksiyon at maging
ng titulo. Mabilis ko naman itong sinagot: Iyan naman ang talagang malungkot na katotohanan! Matatandaang
nagsimula ng panawagan para sa mga akda para sa antolohiyang ito noong Abril 18, 2020 at ang dedlayn ng
huling pagpapasa ay Hunyo 15, 2020. Ito ang unang tatlong buwan ng kuwarentena. Ito din ang kasagsagan na
nagsisimatayan ang mga doktor at iba pang manggagawang pangkalusugan, kulang-kulang na PPE at kagamitan
sa mga ospital, di mahagilap na PCR testing, walang ayuda sa maraming parte ng bansa, ipinantututok ang baril
at hindi simpatya sa mga biktima ng pandemya. Pusikit talaga ang mga buwang ito. Hinihingal at hinihingalo
ang bayan. Gayumpaman, patuloy ang pagsisilbi ng taumbayan. Ang mga nasa Agham ay patuloy ang paggawa sa
laboratoryo, sa mga matematikong formula, sa mga kumperensiya, sa mga clinical trial. Ang mga nasa Sining ay
patuloy ang pagkatha ng panitikan, ng sining-biswal, ng pelikula, ng musika. At mapalad tayong naririto ang ilan
para isaysay ang kanilang awit, salmo, dung-aw.

Binubuksan ang antolohiya ng “Almusal Express” ni Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado ang malubhang kalagayan ng
transportasyon sa bansa, lalo ang LRT at MRT, bago pa man ang pandemya.

Noon,
ang almusal niya
ay pinaghalo-halong
lagkit at asim
ng niluto sa araw
ng mga katawan—

vi
Nakatutuwang nagkaroon na ng ilang linya sa kalsada para sa mga motorsiklo’t bisekleta. Ngunit
nakasusuka pa din ang babalikang tren (o jeep, bus, o FX) ng mga arawang pasahero ng Maynila,
may pandemya man o wala. Patuloy pa din silang almusal ng halo-halong lagkit at asim sa
lalamunan ng nabibilaukang tren.

Sa “D I S T A N C I N G,” iniimbitahan tayo ni Hannah Paguila na titigan ang salitang embrace at

bigyan-pakahulugan ang galaw o gaslaw ng bibig, labi, dila.

E—arms open wide,

The invitation,
An elongated welcome,
“Come close,”
Lips parted into a smile.

Sa panahon ng pandemya, nakasasagip ang agwat. Isa hanggang dalawang metrong pagitan.
Layo-layo muna. Ang totoo, napakahirap nito. Babansagan bang pasaway ang mga sumusuway ng
polisiyang ito? Ngunit nakamamatay rin ang pag-iisa. Nakasisira ng ulo. Gasgas man ang no man
is an island, ngunit iyon ang katotohanan. Intrinsiko ang pakikisalamuha ng/sa tao, kahit minsan
ay nailalagay ang sarili o ang minamahal sa posibilidad ng alanganin. Ganito rin ang nasaksihan
sa ospital ng persona sa tula sa masayang tawanan ng mag-apo sa “In the Next Room” ni Vincen
Gregory Yu.

. . . Their laughter
grew, breath and spit
mixing in the pocket of space
between their faces.
They laughed and touched
and did not fear.

vii
Sa “PPE” ni Elvie Razon-Gonzalez, mapapansin
ang pagtatago sa loob ng PPE para hindi maabot ng
coronavirus.
Lastly, fill these gloves with your hands
To hide the last inch of skin
And your invincibility.
Hindi inmortal ang manggagamot. Kaya naman
balintuna ang pagsusuot ng PPE para takpan ang
“invincibility” ng isang manggagamot. Totoo din
namang may mga kaloobang hindi pagagapi sa
pandemya at mahalaga ang ganitong sampalataya
at lakas-ng-loob, ngunit nasaksihan na natin ang
pagpanaw ng mga Filipinong manggagamot tulad
nina Dr. Raul Jara, Dr. Leandro Resurreccion III,
Dr. Dennis Tudtud, Dr. Khatlynne Abat-Senen, atbp.
Kaya naman, napakahalaga ng ginagampanang papel
ng mga PPE bilang proteksiyon laban sa virus, na
dapat sapat na tinutugunan ng gobyerno para sa mga
frontliner.
Tinumbok din ni Dakila Cutab sa “O Mr. President,
sa Classroom may Batas” na halaw sa tulang
“O Captain! O Captain!” ni Walt Whitman ang
pangangailangan ng taumbayan sa panahon ng
pandemya.
O Mr. President, penge pong sardinas,
Palabas ni Cardo, at pati rin lunas
viii
Pagkain, gamot, at liwaliw sa panahon ng kaba at kawalang-
katiyakan. Panahon ng kuwarentena nang tanggalan ng
prangkisa ang ABS-CBN, isang TV network na nagbibigay
kaligayahan, kabuhayan, at impormasyon sa mga Filipino
nang ilang dekada. Sa panahong nagkalat ang fake news
hinggil sa coronavirus at sunod-sunod na kalamidad sa
bansa, inuna pa ng pamahalaan ang pagpapasara ng isang TV
network kaysa mabilis na pagbibigay-ayuda, pagpapadami ng
COVID-19 testing facilities, pagpapalakas ng puwersang-
medikal, at pagpapamudmod ng tamang impormasyon at
balita, lalo sa mga liblib na bahagi ng bansa.
Sa “Kamunsil” ni Ferdinand Pisigan Jarin, kung paano ang
simpatiyang makatulong sa tindera ng kamunsil para may
“[p]ambili man lang ng bugas,” ay nananalaytay sa kaniyang
pagkatao. Hindi siya makahindi kahit alam niyang may
panganib sa transaksiyong iyon, “Pareho kasi kaming walang
face mask.” Sa maikling karanasang iyon, lumilitaw ang
sosyoekonomikong agwat niya sa tindera, at marahil niya din,
sa mayayamang politikong nagbubulsa ng kaban ng bayan.
Ilalarawan din sa “Ayuda” ni Paul Castillo ang militarisasyon
ng responde ng pamahalaan sa pandemya—ang pagwasiwas
ng baril para magpasunod ng taumbayan.
Nabigtas sa bigat ang bigay na supot.
Sa halip na bigas at lata, tatakalin
ng kanilang mga kamay at pagtataka
ang nagkalat na basyo ng balang tumalab
sa mga nang-abala sa kalsada…
Sa pagsasara ng antolohiya, isang litanya ng mga sumpa ang “Body Politic” ni
Mark Angeles. Ang body politic ay isang sinaunang metapora na ang sambayanan,
ang simbahan, at mga institusyon nito ay maituturing na korporasyon o katawan
ng tao. Lahat ay bahagi lamang ng iisang katawan. Malapit sa kasabihan nating,
Ang sakit ng kalingkingan, sakit din ng buong katawan. Kaya naman sa tula ni Mark
Angeles na namumutiktik ng mga pag-uulit ng salitang “Sumpa,” ang mga
sakit ng tao at mga isyung panlipunan ay iisang sakit ng bayan at katawan. Ang
nakaririnding sumpa sa tao ay ang nakahihingalong sumpa sa bayan.

Ilan lamang ang mga tekstong ito sa mga hinga, hingal, hingalo ng mga miyembro
ng UP at/o UP creative writing workshops na labas sa mga karanasan sa
Philippine General Hospital sa panahon ng kuwarentena at pandemya. Walang
ilusyong maging ensiklopediko ang antolohiyang ito at seguradong makikinabang
ang mambabasa sa pagbabasa ng iba pang lalabas na malikhaing koleksiyon hinggil
sa pandemya. Ang rikit at damdamin ng mga tula at sanaysay na naririto ay bunga
ng sipag at kasiningan ng mga manunulat. Samantala, ang mga kakulangan sa
pagi-pagitan at kaayusan ng mga akda ay maisisisi lamang sa mga patnugot. Sa
pagitan ng mga teksto, may mga piling retratong kuha sa panahon ng pandemya
na sumasaliw sa awit ng Ibong Adarna. Ipinagpapasalamat namin ito sa UP
Photographers’ Society at sa pamamagitan ni Karen Hernandez.

Pagkatapos ng hinga, hingal, at hingalo ay padayon!

Joey A. Tabula

ix
x
Hinga

1
 Noon,
ang almusal niya
ay pinaghalo-halong
lagkit at asim
Almusal Express ng niluto sa araw
na mga katawan–
Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado
ipinilit ipasubo’t
isalaksak
sa bungangang
ngawit na
“Nagpaalala ang Department of Transportation sa pagnganga
(DOTr) sa mga pasahero na maglaan ng mas
mahabang oras sa pila sa mga istasyon ng tren hanggang
dahil sa mga ipinatutupad na alituntunin mabilaukan,
kaugnay sa pag-iral naman ng general at sa gitna ng pagtakbo’y
community quarantine sa Metro Manila.”
tuluyang magsuka.
Ngayon,
–MRT-3 trains limitado lamang sa sa muling pagpasada,
153 pasahero; dating oras ng operasyon di man nagsusuka
nananatili, untvweb.com, 1
tuwing umaga’y
Hunyo 2020
papait
nang papait
ang almusal niya.

2
 Nasaan ang korona?
tanong ko kay Papa.
Nasa pinya bang tirahan
ng paborito kong kartun?
Nasa Palasyo ba?
Ang (Mayroon bang hari doon
o isang Harry lamang?)
Pinakamakinang O baka naman nakasabit
doon sa aming kapitbahay
na Korona na laging kasali ng beau-con?
Sabi naman ng iba
Kristoffer Aaron G. Tiña nasa hangin, kahugis ng panganib.
Umuwi si Mama,
suot ang kanyang baluti
mula sa digmaan ng ospital.
Saka ko nahanap
pinakamakinang na korona.

3
 Nostalgia. Photo by Johanna Paola P. Cortez.

4
 1 Every morning, she will repeat this line after waking up,
“We’re better off than a million others. At least, we have
fried fish and tomatoes for breakfast and my husband
How to Survive works as an Overseas Filipino Worker in Saudi Arabia.”
Then she will rise from bed, wash her face and mouth,
the Lockdown proceed to pour vegetable oil into the frying pan. Usually
during cool mornings, the lard would have congealed. She
Danton Remoto will get a tablespoon, scoop the lard and let it rest on the
bottom of the pan. She will let the lard sputter and quiet
down. Now the lard is hot and you can begin frying the
dried fish.

2 After frying the fish, she will flatten a head of garlic, cut
into small pieces, put into the pan, and then follow this
with last night’s rice. She will sprinkle salt to taste.

3 She will wake up the only child, now a teenager having

his share of sulky days. She will tell him to wash up and
then sit before the breakfast table. She will fill his plate
with rice enough to last until snack time, then she will
check the extra room if she has still enough rice to tide
them over until the end of the month-long lockdown.

5
 4 She will get the quarantine pass from the village chief, in the village hall painted green,
which was the campaign color of President Borloloy. She will bring her red umbrella to
shield her from the hot sun, now again like an intense eye in the sky. She will buy one
dozen eggs and 20 pieces of fried fish cut butterfly style; she will buy canned goods
of Ligo sardines and Nice Pork and Beans; she will buy half a kilo of garlic and onion
and ginger, along with small bottles of soy sauce, fish sauce, and vinegar. She will buy
minced meat, not whole meat. She will use the minced meat sparingly, just enough so
that their mung-bean stew would smell of meat. She will buy a bagful of mung bean,
and let a bowl of it stand overnight in water. The bean sprouts could be cooked the next
morning, mixed with garlic, onion, tomatoes, soy sauce and calamansi juice for that
piquant dash of lemon.

5 She will look around her workplace to check which item was not yet being sold. This
lockdown will be over in a month, and she has to think of the future. She could go back
to selling things after the lockdown. In her elementary school, almost everything was
already being sold by the public-school teachers: sweet meats of tocino and longganisa,
clothes and decorative items of angels painted pink; insurance plans, funeral services,
and memorial-park lots. She sold Tupperware, like she did in the 1960s. She felt it was
like returning to an old love. Her sales pitch: these lunchboxes would save you money
in terms of cheaper, home-cooked food, in the short run, and hospitalization, in the
long run: the canteen sells overpriced slabs of cholesterol and salty food. These plastic
glasses could contain calamansi juice that you had squeezed right in your very kitchen.
No soda, no fake orange flavors, no coffee, no tea: just pure, natural citrus good for
bones (ours are beginning to ache from age and this horrible lockdown) and teeth (the
stronger the better, for the inflation rate would still go up before it went down, and we
would need stronger teeth for the chattering to come).

6
6 On the way home, she would ask for cassava leaves from Mareng Mely who lived
around the corner. Old Woman Mely thought that she would give them to the children
in the neighborhood, to play with. They would break the thin, green-red stems into
inch-long strips, the tough skin hanging on, and the strips of stem could be turned into
instant necklaces, with the star-shaped leaves as pendant. But no, the cassava leaves
could be simmered in coconut milk flavored with shrimp paste from the province of
Pangasinan. It reminded her of what they ate in World War II, when they fled to the
forests to avoid the wrath of the Japanese Imperial Army, surviving on what they could
forage in the heart of the forest: pith of banana trunks and meat of snakes, and yes,
cassava leaves simmered in coconut milk, along with river small shrimps that used to
cluster near the rocks in the river.

7 She will go to the storage room and retrieve the Nutribuns, those bread hard as rocks
that are being distributed to school children by the Nutrition Foundation under the
sponsorship of the First Lady, the President’s flamboyant wife. She will bring these
rocks home, use a hammer to break them down into bits, soak them in a basin of water.
When sufficiently soft, she will pour half the contents of a small can of condensed milk,
then add just enough sugar, for sugar is also becoming more expensive now. She will
pour the mixture in her old pans, then steam. After 30 minutes, she will lift the lid (the
steam blurring her very face), set the cans on a basin quarter-filled with water, to cool.
Then put in the refrigerator (heaven help us this 15-year-old fridge would not break
down, not now, Lord), and the morning after, she will serve this as the breakfast of her
rebellious teenager, in case he has already gotten tired of having fried fish and fried
garlic rice every morning.

7
 8 Night. She did not want to watch television again, for the President—a former action-movie
star with pompadour hair—stutters when he speaks, addled by the painkillers he is taking
to alleviate the spasms and stabs caused by his lungs that have now turned into the color of
charcoal, his kidneys withering into the size of a pea. Like a bat he always holds his weekly
press conferences at night, when the hour has struck 12, and his face can be seen on all
television channels, his voice heard on all radio stations, with YouTube and Netflix signals
frozen while he speaks, so that the whole archipelago would tune in.

9 The last time she watched him he seemed to be afloat on an orange cloud, suspended in
another intersection of the time-space continuum. He intoned: “Take from someone dead.
From someone who has died of this mother-fucker Covid-19 virus. Why did this virus
happen under my watch? Take blood from a dead man and inject it into a horse. You inject
the infected blood slowly into the horse, not suddenly but slowly, because the horse might get
the virus of Covid-19. You inject the blood slowly until the horse is immune. When there are
already many antibodies in the horse, plenty of it has passed through the horse. It is like the
bite of a snake. Really, it is like the bite of a cobra and we have many cobras in Burraka where
I come from. But I did not know that many of the cobras in Burraka have already moved
here, in the capital city. You can see them yakking all around you. These are the cobras who
are doing nothing. They are just waiting to bite. They will open their dangerous mouths just
to be able to bite, just to be able to say something. Really, these sons and daughters of whores
have done nothing for this country. All I want to do is to shoot them dead.”

10 But before the useless President could shoot her dead, the mother had already beaten him to
the draw. She grabbed the black remote control, pressed the red button aflame like the eye of
an angry animal, pressed it hard, and darkness swallowed the vile visage of the President.

8
11 She says a potent curse under her breath and begins to feel ashes on her tongue. Suddenly
she is tired. She will draw a deep, deep sigh (A mother is a lifeline and the rope should
not break). Her husband was working as an Overseas Filipino Worker thousands of miles
away, in deepest, hottest Riyadh. They could only communicate through free phone calls
in Messenger, but the calls now get cut more often, their voices just drop and vanish in the
void. The distance would spread between them like a desert. Her heart would thud heavily
in her chest. There are still 15 days before this lockdown ends: fifty doctors have died
from lack of protective gear, the farmers in La Trinidad Valley are throwing their harvest
of carrots and potatoes into the deep ravines, for lack of transportation to the markets in
the lowlands. The sirens, she should sleep now before the sirens begin to wail again in the
darkest night, bringing the sick and the dying to the crowded hospitals. She holds her rosary
tightly, the one her own mother gave her, she will turn the brown beads in her fingers as she
prays to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, to save her and her son, her relatives
and friends, the whole helpless archipelago from this virus that she cannot see.

She will try to fall asleep, and then she will repeat numbers one to eleven when morning
comes through, again.

9
 Ha Panahon
han COBID-19
Victor N. Sugbo
Nakolombitay an mga pulong mo
Sugad han bulan kun tagbitay han iro.
Isulót an imo bangot
Ayaw hirama an imo nawong
Ayaw hirama an imo mata
Ayaw hirama an imo irong
Ayaw hirama an imo imim
Kun ada ka ha kadamán nga tawo.
Aanhon ko pagbugós hinin akon buot
Kun ha kaihaan, makalimtan ko
An hulaw han akon nawong mata irong imim?
10
Maghunaw permi han imo kamot
Gamit an sabon ngan tubig.
Huhugasan ko permi an akon mga kamot
Ug sasabonan.
Paparaon ko iginpadukot,
Pulong nga iginhulma
Pagkilalán ha akon.
Ngan ha akon pagínusara ha balay
Hihiramhiramon ko an akon nawong
Bibilngon ko
Ha mata, irong ug imim
Salinsalin han akon kalugaringon.
 In the Time
of COVID-19
Victor N. Sugbo

The words as you speak dangle Always wash your hands

Like portents of the hanged-cats moon. Using soap and water.

Wear a face mask Wash hands I will

Do not touch your face
Do not touch your eyes
Do not touch your nose
Do not touch your lips
When out there with people.
How will I make my self whole
If after a long while, I forget
How my face, eyes, nose and lips feel?
And soap them
Rubbing out the words
They framed
To name me.
And at home when alone
I will keep on touching my face
And find them
In my eyes, nose and lips,
The things left about my self.

11
 Like ants
Locked that crawl up her pomelo tree,
they used to line up
Down in front of Fang-Od’s house:
tourists–
Lines
Tourists
Jose Velando Ogatis-I whose eyes saw
the lines on her skin
and decided to realize
their Buscalan travel
and tattoo dreams.

Everyday,
with puffed-up chests and
eagle and ladder pattern thoughts,
they would wait for Fang-Od,
their guides
negotiating for time and cost
to lock down
the well-worn mambabatok.

12
Always,
Fang-Od’s hands would shake
as the Kalinga sky wears soot,
joints misaligned by time
would bring her needles
–head to foot.

Now,
as the pandemic lines the roads,
the old lines have faded.
Grass has claimed back paths
once beaten by the paying pack.

No more guides so eager.

No more mistimed meals.
No more lowland litter.
No more Influencer deals.
Entitled knocks are no more.
Gone is the tourist trade.
Fang-Od now smiles
as she sees her lines fade.

13
 Photo by Ivan Joshua A. Castor.

14
Aabot. Photo by Jaho Rojo.

15
 The Smell of Menudo
Cheeno Marlo Sayuno

If the last Sunday of April this year were one without a pandemic, the direction of
which is still uncertain and carries with it the feeling of anxiety, confusion, and looming
chaos, things would have been different in our house. I would be waking up to the
smell of menudo, which is my Mom’s specialty, a recipe passed down to her by our late
grandmother. There would be coordinated noise outside: an orchestra of long ladles
clashing on the kawa (a big cauldron), the hasty shuffling of steps from the kitchen to the
backyard where the action is happening, the crackling of fire from the makeshift stove,
the clanging of spoons and forks and plates being set on the table, the cutting of meat and
vegetables against the wooden chopping boards, and the joyful chatter in between heavy
work. Mommy and Tatay, my stepfather, would rise early even if they slept past midnight
from the constant stirring of ube, with my brothers helping alternately because they
cannot stop from mixing and mashing as the yam is cooking.

I would be enlisted to do some tasks as well. My hands would be swollen from yesterday’s
slicing of kilos and kilos of meat. I have always volunteered to cut the softer portions of
meat and fat for dinuguan, a staple dish during the bisperas. This stew is made from the
parts of the pig that are less useful, such as the fat and the blood. We would simmer the
bones into binutohan, a personal favorite because this is where most of the flavor is. My
hands would hurt from the burns of cutting the meat right away after being boiled. It
would still feel greasy even after constantly washing the meat to get rid of the thick fat.
Still, I would continue to help in setting the table for today’s feast.

16
This is the usual scene in all households in our
town during the last week of April in preparation
for the town fiesta. Our patron saint is St. Mary
Magdalene, and devout Catholics might be
surprised that we celebrate the feast day on April
when the actual date is July.
During the heyday of coffee industry in our
town, it was around April when the coffee
berries were ripe and bountiful, ready for
harvest. Throughout the month, half the streets
would be filled with red and green berries
getting dried under the summer sun, with planks
of wood positioned as borders to prevent them
from spilling out. I could still remember helping
out as a kid, spreading the berries evenly on the
road beside our house and ending up playing
over it by pretending it was a skating rink. This
dismayed grandfather who would shout from
afar that I was crushing the berries with my
little feeble feet. In the afternoon, we would
collect the berries back into a mound using
rakes or dippers made from used plastic bottles.
We would cover them with plastic or old sacks
overnight so that they would not become moisty
and prone to molds. When the berries turned
black and the beans rattled inside like maracas
when you shake them, they were ready for selling
at the coffee mill, just in time to have money to
spend for the fiesta.
The fiesta is a big deal to the people of our town.
No matter how difficult life is, there would
always be food on the table during this time of
the year. There might be no Noche Buena or the
simplest meal for Media Noche, but the table
should be bountiful during fiesta. Back when
I was a kid, my Mom, a grade-school teacher
and a single parent to three kids, would end
up receiving no salary from the constant loans.
She would keep on renewing these loans for us
to have money to spend for school supplies at
the beginning of each academic year and for a
full set of clothes for Christmas. But she also
found herself renewing a loan, or applying for
another, specifically for the town fiesta. We did
not mind eating rice and eggs all day for the rest
of the year as long as for one festive day in April,
the table in our ramshackle of a home would
be filled with various dishes for the visitors:
menudo, pininyahan, pochero and some desserts.
17
 I grew up with a conflicting feeling about town
fiestas. I would eventually work to support
my family, and part of my annual dues in the
household is making sure that we have budget
for the fiesta. There were some years when
this was extra difficult, especially during my
early years of my career. It felt like spending
thousands and thousands of money for one day
was a waste. It was not consoling that I did not
know half of the people going in and out of
the house. Some were relatives from places I
have never been to; others were family friends
who made visiting us for the town fiesta a
yearly tradition. Aside from eating at our home,
Mommy would pack something for them to
take home after, may it be a boxful of menudo, a
bunch of bananas, or a piece or two 0f pineapple.
Every time I complained, Mommy would
remind me to not speak of such blasphemy,
18
her eyes stabbing me with caution. She would
remind me that celebrating the fiesta is a way
of thanksgiving. It is every resident’s way of
sharing blessings to visitors. Besides, what
household would not prepare for fiesta when
everyone expects each family to have food
ready? A town fiesta, as a tradition, is never
an event where you invite people. Everyone is
welcome to visit, and when people do, there is
some sort of tacit reciprocity that you have to
visit them during their respective town’s feast
day. This is a tradition that I have embraced, a
way of expressing gratitude for the blessings of
the year. I also think that this is a way for me to
also connect with family and friends. My friends
would stay until late night for a few drinks, while
those who visited from faraway places would
have to leave early, carrying with them fruits and
dishes, the smell wafting in the buses and MRT
on their ride home. And the blessings continue.
If the last Sunday of April this year were any
different, my mother would have been busy in
the kitchen so early in the morning. Her menudo
would have already been cooked the day before,
placed in white plastic containers, and stocked
in the bedroom. Everywhere, from the room to
your clothes, would smell of it. Only the meat
would be cooked during bisperas, the eve of the
fiesta. Early in the morning of the actual feast
day, this would be cooked again. Mommy calls
this “pinapasá,” the way of cooking menudo
again not only to heat it up but also to mix the
vegetables in. This is done to avoid spoilage.
These basins and basins of menudo would be
consumed throughout the day, but Mommy
would make sure that at least one is left for us to
last for a week. During town fiestas, the smell of
menudo remained because those who celebrated
would either have something left or received
from houses that they visited. This would be
the dish that will be served in the coming days.
Menudo thrice cooked is the best! I would even
request my Mom to make sinangag from the pan
where the menudo was reheated.
This year, however, things are different. As early
as March, when the lockdown was placed, there
were already concerns about the town fiesta
when people from various places come together
without regard for social distancing. As the
fateful day approaches, the uncertainty was
replaced with the finality of cancellation. Along
with it, the reality that the pandemic was real
started manifesting on the faces of people. The
usually big preparation for the fiesta turned into
scouring for basic commodities that would last
for weeks or even months. The usual purchase
of ingredients for main courses and desserts
was replaced with securing the basics: rice,
meat, chicken, canned goods, oil, eggs, and
bread, along with disinfectants and face masks.
The malls and public markets that are usually
filled with people in a frenzy for the fiesta have
become a somber sight of people waiting for
hours in line, meters apart, able only to purchase
whatever is left on the shelves and stalls.
Because of the lockdown, I did not wake up
as early today as I would during the past town
19
 fiestas. There is no longer a smell of menudo luring me to the kitchen. The
world is silent. Instead of the usual celebration, I wake up to the news of the first
COVID-19 positive case in our town. Since the start of the lockdown, our town
of Amadeo has had zero case, along with Bailen and Magallanes. Today, in time
for the feast day, we worry, fear, and mourn our first case—yet another reminder
that today is not like any other feast day, that the world we live in is no longer the
world that we are accustomed to before.

Scrolling over Facebook, people in our town are posting greetings of a happy
fiesta in between sharing posts from the Amadeo Rural Health Unit about
the lockdown placed in the barangay where the positive case resides as health
workers perform contact tracing. Others would share posts from past years, the
idea of celebration being a distant memory that only lives in images brought
back by algorithms in social networking sites. The smiles from visitors and the
extravagant food on the table from last year’s fiesta are a quick escape from
the current reality. These are reminders that the new normal will take a lot of
getting used to. My friends and family would also talk about the fiesta and the
case alternately in the group chats. I would receive two images here and there:
the first one depicts instances of food preparations that each household managed
to cook for today, and the other is the publicity material about the positive case
and the measures that the town is doing to mitigate the problem. The barrio is
placed on stricter lockdown protocols. In between bulletins, people are also be
posting online the food that they have prepared and their greetings for St. Mary
Magdalene.

20
In the afternoon, the church conducts an online pabasa of prayers. I also saw that the
priest, along with very few lay ministers and altar boys, held a procession around town
that was strategically spread out. Their face masks were as white as their varying clerical
ensemble of clothing. Those whose houses were along the route of the small procession
would watch by the window, lighting candles and offering silent prayers. I also saw
beamed the procession via Facebook Live, which would be flooded with hearts flying
around the screen as well as comments of a praying emoji.

While browsing the kitchen scenes posted by some friends online and becoming a
virtual witness to their simple celebrations, a familiar but surprising smell jolts me from
my bed. The smell of cube-cut meat cooking in its natural oil, the recipe that my Mom
learned from my Lola, wafts through the air and brings me scurrying into the kitchen.
It is a surprise that my mother is preparing menudo today, even if we have already
agreed that she would forego cooking for the celebration. We also have pancit and leche
flan, which Mommy ordered from friends who grabbed the opportunity to earn a little
despite the lockdown and the stoppage of regular income that the pandemic has caused
many. The smell of menudo, even if cooking in a small pan instead of the big one, takes
me back to a place of comfort, the place I have been longing for a long time.

Still skeptical to the concept of fiestas, its thanksgiving nature is however comforting.
Even when faced with difficult times, there are things to be thankful for. We have to
be thankful for the strength to continually face the challenges of the times, for the
safety that we can still relish, for the forms of relief that we receive from agencies and
volunteer organizations, for resilience in times of crisis. Maybe, as we give our thanks,
in prayer, in celebrating feast days, in virtual sharing of greetings and gratitude, the
higher beings will hear us and this pandemic will all be over for the better and for us
to rebuild. Things will never be the same, but the tradition of being grateful, of being
resilient, of being united as a community continue. And we will heal again.

21
 Genesis. Photo by Ivan Joshua A. Castor.

22
Photo by Victor John C. Ergina.

23
 Ano ang
Ginagawa Natin Sopistikado ang disenyo’t hibla
Ng panakip sa ilong at bibig.
Fermin Salvador KN95 filter material, particulate respirator,
Sa buong mukha, parihabang plastik
Na pananggalang sa di nakikitang
Dura, mga butil ng bayrus
Na naglalagalag sa hangin–
Para tayong mga astronot
Sa katihan o higanteng kulisap,
Nabagabag ang mga gansa
Nag-ingay at agad na nagsilayo
Nang unang masilayan
Sa kanilang kanlungan ang kakaibang
Mga nilalang, ang mga alagang
Aso ay nagtatakang nakatingin.
Iba na ang ating mga anyo.

Ano ang ginagawa natin sa ating mga sarili?

24
Walong oras, madalas ay higit pa,
Walang patid tayong yapos, o gapos
Ng mga kagamitang personal na pananggalang.
Kasalanang medikal
Ang paghubad sa mga ito
Nang hindi ayon sa protokol.
Dahil mapanganib ang lunan
Na pinaglalagian, tila mga isinumpa
Na rin, ang madla ay takot sa atin,
Di natin sila masisisi.
Kinukuskos ang sahig at dingding
Gamit ang kemikal na kumikitil
Maging sa mabubuting bakterya, mula sa balat
Hanggang sa lamanloob, pinupuksa
Sa bawat paghakbang ng paa,
Sa bawat paghawak ng kamay;
Walang sakit ay di maluwag ang ating paghinga.
Inuulit na sagapin ang ibinugang hangin
Sa dami nang harang sa mukha
At kulob na ginagalawan.
Tag-araw, maaliwalas sa labas
Ngunit maging ang sulyap dito’y naipagkakait,
Walang humpay ang mga pag-alarma.
Ano ang ginagawa natin sa ating mga sarili?

25
 Ay! Ayudang ituring
Hindi ang pulo-pulong katapangan
Sa aktuwal na salpukan sa pook ng larangan
Ito’y ang mahahaba, waring walang
Wakas na mga sandaling kailangang
Magbantay, magmanman, tumao
Nang walang pagbawa ang liksi
Ng mga pandama, kalamnan,
Higit sa lahat, kamalayan
Sapagkat gaya sa duwelo
Huwag asahan ang ikalawang pagkakataon
Kapag nagkamali o nagpabaya.

Ito ang ating sakripisyo.

Suot natin ang ating unipormeng
Sumisikil, humahapon
Sa ating timpi’t katatagan.
Ano ang ginagawa natin sa ating mga sarili
Upang mapatunayang
May mga nabubuhay pa rin
Nang di lang para sa sarili?

26
Reconnecting in
Disconnections
Lisa S. Traboco

I haven’t seen her in three years.

She is a doctor in a local “hot zone” and I have been thinking of her since last week. We’ve been friends since
college and medical school. But residency and fellowship led us to diverging roads, and meet-ups were getting
more and more rare.
She is in quarantine after being exposed to a positive COVID-19 case. She is alone and a little bored, but we are
grateful she is not sick. We talk about how long her groceries will hold out, and wonder when will she get back to
work once they allow her. She has not been tested yet. She talks about how our circle of friends has not seen each
other for years, and I feel that pinch of regret in my heart.
She sends me a photo of flowers.
We have not seen each other since she migrated. Their schools are closed, but there is still work to be done. She
tells me funny stories about her students. We talk about how life in their province is simple but hard. We talk
about languages, their nuances and context. I tell her I am way behind my foreign language lessons. I ask her if
the festivities have been canceled. She sends me a photo of the early blooms in front of her husband’s workplace.
We try to keep it normal.
To change the mood, I send a different, non-virus or non-news related photos once in a while. We talk about
TV shows and Korean dramas. I hilariously impose my self-acclaimed expertise and high standards for a leading
protagonist. We talk about storylines and subplots.
But sometimes, we still plunge back into reality.
Next week she goes back to ICU duty.

27
 Examine the word “embrace”
How syllables escape into sound
Waves,
Mouth shapes,
Release.

E - M - BR - A - CE.
How tender,
A gentle approach.

DISTANCING E–arms open wide,

The invitation,
Hannah Paguila An elongated welcome,
“Come close,”
Lips parted into a smile.

M–a joining together.

Communion.

BR–limbs entangling
Millimeters pulse.

A–the one enclosed.

CE–teeth in contact, lips dangle

Hold that position.
The lock.

28
No letting go. No gaps. No holes.

In bracchium–this is your home.

Hug–to console.
A rush, a thud, an immediate response.

H - U - G. Hug.
Hush.
Here. Now. Tighter.

Speech Pathology & Linguistics.

How the mouth works, how we make sense of words–Why does your face look like that
When you say those words?

Anthropology. Semiotics. Etymology.

Notice how we gather and release,

What we do to make an embrace, a hug.
Mouths feel before nerves could touch.

Have we yearned so much that utterances have become placeholders?

Settling for words, we fixate on how we say them,

Read my lips gained a new meaning.

29
 Embrace, hug,
Opening and closing,
Holding and releasing,
Touching,

Wishing an action upon someone is not tantamount to sensations of nerve-endings.

But bodies never really touch.

Atoms push and pull

–It’s the physics around them that we feel
When palms caress,
When fingers trace,
When skin brushes upon skin,
Physics.

Let the physics of my words be enough until our electrons can interact again.

In a dance.

The expanse between your atoms and mine is dismissible as long as you hold on to the
words “embrace” and “hug” and “kiss” and “love” and the anatomy of how these words
come to be.

Until then, I wrap my whispers around yours.

Their warmth is the 3rd law of motion in action.

30
 Just like the next dawn, or the last one
bold in its pulchritude
with stark birds soldered to the bright line
and the sockets of corpses blooming hibiscus-red
or at least that’s what the Truth said,
No, demanded.
Faith Glib men would say that what we need are jobs.
The tongues of distribution. We need protectors to rise
Jeremy Cordero like rapid seraphs, burning the world with solutions.
But angels do not solve.
Tongues do not give
And the truth never demands.
Truth just points to the rising sun.
How many of us dared not to look?

31
 Hanap Buhay. Photo by Johann Paola P. Cortez.

32
Liham kay Inay Kumusta, Inay?
Ako, mabuti naman.
sa Gitna ng Kahit may kaba at takot sa dibdib
Sa bawat araw na pagpasok sa sinumpaang tungkulin,
Pandemya Tila nakikipagsapalaran sa sakit na COVID.

Kenneth G. Samala Mabuti na siguro na wala ka dito ngayon

Dahil hindi ko maatim ang laging mag-alala
Sa bawat pagtatapos ng araw ay may pangamba
Kung sa pag-uwi ay may sakit na dala-dala.

Malayo man ang distansiya sa isa’t isa,

Panatag naman ang puso ko dahil alam kong ligtas ka
Sa banta ng pandemya, dahil sabi nga nila,
Ang tulad mong may diyabetis, altapresyon at may edad na
Ay madaling kapitan ng sakit at tuluyang manghina.

Subalit aaminin ko, labis na may pananabik

Na ikaw ay makita, mahawakan at mahagkan muli
Simula nang lisanin mo ang mundo, sampung taon na ang nakalipas
At sumama sa Poong Maykapal sa itaas.

Mainam na nga siguro ito dahil alam ko

Walang sakit, walang pandemya kung saan ka naroroon.

33
 Lahat tayo’y maaaring maging
Taong-delantera kung ating
Nanaisin. Walang turuan
Sa dapat na mauna
Kung walang natatakot
At naiwawaksi ang takot

Lahat Tayo’y Sapagkat nabibigyan ng halaga

Nasa Delantera Ang pag-aalay at pagpupunyagi.
Sapagkat namayani ang pagkamakasarili
Fermin Salvador Hinati-hati ang mga saysay,
Naghahambingan ng bilang ng taglay
Na mga hiwa, tambok nito,
Mga hibla. Walang di tinutuos,
Walang hindi sinisipat nang walang
Halong panaghili, malisya,
Pagtimbang kung nalalamangan

34
Ng yamungyong, halimuyak,
Tinatakpan ang kahungkagan
Ng sarili sa mga hungkag
Na papuri sa mga gerero sa batalya,
Sa pagpapamalas ng bulaklaking kamalayan
Na handog ding itinuturing–
Hungkag na pagkukubli!

Isa lamang ang saysay

Nang pagiging tao, iisa lamang
Ang sangkatauhan, kabilang
Ka rito, anumang espasyo
O deskripsiyon ang sa sarili
Ay iyong marapatin–
Natatangi, patnubay, tanglaw
‘Kamo sa mga naliligaw
Na kagaya mo rin lang pala
Hangga’t ikaw’y namamalagi
Sa anino ng iyong katauhan.

35
 Ang Kredo
ng mga Frontliner
sa Bagong Normal
Ronald Law Sa init ng impiyerno o taas ng tubig
Kami ay lulusob
Walang tunog ng kulog
Ang babasag sa aming tainga
Walang galit ng hangin
Ang magpapatumba ng aming kalooban
Walang hininga ng salot
Ang papatay sa aming hangarin
Mula sa lumalagablab
Na apoy ng lupa
Hindi kami magpapatupok
Hanggang sa dumadagundong
Na pagyanig mula sa ilalim
Hindi kami matitinag.
Maging kaloob ng Nasa Itaas
O dulot ng mga taong puno ng sala
Kami ay maghahatid ng serbisyo

36
Para sa mga apektado,
May karamdaman,
Sa mahihina, mahihirap
Sa malalayong lupain
At malalawak na karagatan
Kung hanggang saan makaabot
And aming mga kamay at pusong
Dama ang mga pasakit
Sa gitna ng madidilim na ulap
Makikita namin ang liwanag
Kami ay magwawagi
Kami ay magtatagumpay
Huhulihin ang pagsulyap
Ng magandang pagkakataon
Sa kabila ng bawat kahirapan
At pagdurusa
Lahat para sa Kanyang
Kaluwalhatian

37

PPE
Elvie Victonette B. Razon-Gonzalez
First they make you wear
A cloak that covers
As much as it could:
Limbs, neck, back and shins
Even your spleen’s vulnerability.
Then they cover your mouth
Snuggly to cup your chin
Reassuringly,
Snuffing your breath
To make its mark with clarity.
Next a thin sheet:
A plastic that mimics
An acrylic: impervious
And proud as any shield should be.
They ask you to breathe out forcibly
Then suck it all in
Taking note of breaches
In clarity.
Lastly, fill these gloves with your hands
To hide the last inch of skin
And your invincibility.

38
Photo by Steff.

39
 My Sister’s Vocation
Ma. Jhayle Ann Marie Z. Meer

iii.
How does it look to fear about your life? Maybe, looking out the sea, you notice for the first time its
blackness despite the apparent blue. Liquid to the touch, suited to the color of the sky, this nighttime can
go on for months. You have at least the right to know, as you take one step after another, deeper and
deeper into the water, until the whole sea is just below your chin, at this point a prayer can only comfort
you but cannot pull you towards us. You look back, growing your fear because mother, father, sister,
grandmother, relatives, loved ones have dared followed you, because distance is only possible for
strangers during the first fourteen days it was declared national rule, perhaps a bit too late.

x.
At that time, there was nothing to do so we wrote a novella. It was about an angel sent to earth to fulfill a
mission. Somewhere, a girl ran away from home and rode a bus to the north where she got into an
accident. Our grand idea was that the dead girl’s body would host the angel’s life. A family would take her
in, mistaking her for a survivor with amnesia. By the end, we had different endings. I chose the one
where the dead girl lives, even with the angel leaving. That is fiction. People like me need to realize this:
you cannot come back once you cross over.

xxiv.
It was hard enough letting you leave home every day. I tell you, don’t be a heroine, not out of some spite
for them, not out of some selfishness, but because we have sat together as children, crossed-legged on
the floor, holding up our palms to each other, looking each other in the eye with only one rule to go by:
don’t laugh now. I see you as if I am looking into a mirror, I do not want to thank you because I do
not want you to give your life, not for me or for anyone. Not because I do not want you to love
your neighbor but because I love you as I love myself.

40
Raunch, Breath
(for our frontliners)
Hansel B. Mapayo

Earth is invaded by countless minute cells

That leave some lungs gasping for breath.

Daily, just before the dark horizon brightens,

I walk under the trees to breathe a breeze.

And I think of you, medical workers—selfless,

Bravely tending the sick with gentleness.

St. Stephen points me to your crowns—

Resembling Christ’s thorns for other’s sake.

Some of you gave your breath to the end

That your patients may continue to breathe.

I imagine Him hang on the beamed tree,

Praying for you, both the living and the dead.

As Ruach, the breath of the Spirit, hovers

Over, may I partake from you, this deep breath.

41
 Realities of the Outside(rs)
Jasmine Arcilla

“Serve the undeserved”

Three words guided our naive souls,
Leading us to where we are now;
Three words that were planted so deep,
Making us stand out in the crowd;
Three words we took straight to the heart,
But was the reason we’re falling apart.

We went into this field because few do

But because few do, it’s left us undone;
To be at the frontline of all frontlines,
To be the strongest during these times,
To give up way too much more,
Much more than what we signed up for.

Because every person welcomed home,

We give up the chance to go to ours;
Because with every increase in number,
Decreases the hope that took us this far;
Because every victory we’ve had,
A greater part of us has gone mad.

42
Never have we felt so depended on,
That it’s finally become a burden;
Never have we worked with so much passion,
That the flames have finally burned out;
Never have we felt so needed,
At the same time so lonely and defeated.

We have shouted out loud for help,

But those who must listen, don’t hear us;
We have given our point of view,
But those who must lead us, don’t see us.
We have let them feel everything,
The anger, the frustrations, the worries,
But they have chosen to ignore us.

They did say going outside was a risk,

Yet we stubbornly still chose it;
And we knew the system was broken,
But we naively wanted to fix it;
So I guess this is what we deserve,
For choosing to serve the undeserved.

43
 Nostalgic. Photo by Roberto Miguel A. Lava.

44
Industriya. Photo by Roberto Miguel A. Lava.

45
 Story of a COVID-19 Survivor
Alvina Pauline D. Santiago

I was exposed to the virus on March 8, 2020. I was in a meeting where two attendees
got infected after a recent travel to Malaysia. One of them was asymptomatic, while the
other deteriorated by the second week and was intubated. Thankfully, she has now pulled
through and is on her way to full recovery. Many of us in that meeting (ten of fourteen)
started having symptoms. Two among us believed it was asthma, while the rest suspected
it to be COVID-19. At that time, we did not qualify for testing and were advised to go on
home quarantine. Except for the one with severe case who was admitted, none of us were
tested despite some symptoms.

I had dry cough that lasted for two weeks. My senses of smell and taste were gone for
a week. And I had few episodes of diarrhea, as well as malaise and tiredness. I was
persistently bothering and texting Dr. Karl Henson, and monitored the Department of
Health’s guidelines on testing almost daily. When our index case deteriorated, I was finally
told, that I could already be tested. My nasopharyngeal and oropharyngeal swabs were
taken on the eleventh day from onset of symptoms, exactly 14 days from my exposure. My
real time-reverse transcription polymerase chain reaction (RT-PCR) test came back negative
three days later.

As a physician, I know that not all tests are 100% accurate. None of the existing tests
are 100% sensitive. We base our diagnosis and management on clinical history and
presentation, and pursue it beyond just merely “treating someone’s test result.” I felt mine
was “false negative” — I was either tested too late or had already recovered by the time my
swabs were taken. Or the test was simply incorrect. I also had the opportunity to be tested
for antibodies specific against COVID-19.

46
Thanks to a colleague, Dr. Minguita Padilla, who had
access to test kits and graciously performed the rapid
antibody test on me. I was IgG positive, implying that
as suspected I indeed had a prior COVID-19 infection.
[IgG is short for immunoglobulin-G, antibodies that
were form after one has recovered from a past infection
in the past].
I had mixed emotions. I felt fear: I could have turned
for the worse too. I was not ready. My son was not ready.
Is anyone really ready? There was relief. Somehow, I
survived the ordeal and now have antibodies to fight
the disease. There developed in me a deep sense of
responsibility: if my antibodies will help someone get
well, I needed to donate my plasma.
I was initially rejected as a convalescent plasma donor.
Most centers doing plasmapheresis required that a
donor must have a positive RT-PCR test and at least two
negative test results after. I only had a negative RTPCR
test. I was deemed to have not met the usual criteria. I
nagged Dr. Karl to give me my results from the Destura
test kit. Maybe that yielded a positive result.
I was initially “rejected” at the University of the
Philippines-Philippine General Hospital, where I could
have been the first potential donor with a negative RT-
PCR test. I told them about the parallel testing on the
UP-NIH test kit for validation, and hoped they could
gain access to it. Dr. Jonas del Rosario rechecked the
parameters for donation and discovered this: positive
result for anti-SARS-CoV-2 IgG antibody-based test on
recovery. Yey!
I absolved Dr. Karl, God bless him for all the work he
does, he needed a break from me!
After 28 days without symptoms, in April 20, 2020, I
finally donated convalescent plasma at Room 108 of
the Paz Mendoza Building of the University of the
Philippines College of Medicine, with hope that it
can help someone who may not be as lucky as I am
fight COVID-19. Room 108 brought back all good
memories. I was a student again of health informatics
in this room at fifty. I learned new skills here. This
time, however, the feeling was even better. I was able
to donate twice, two weeks apart. I was ready for the
third, but my rapid antibody test became equivocal, and
was rejected for donation.
Why did I donate? I could not be at the frontline. This
was the only way I think I could give back. I owe it to
all of you for staying in your houses, to all of you for
donating and finding ways to help our frontliners, the
residents, fellows, teachers, mentors and colleagues,
and other health care workers in the field and at the
hospitals. Some of them even paid dearly with their
own lives.
47
 Day 45: April 28, 2020
Tuesday in quarantine.
Enjoying a newfound pastime.
Creating cairns. Balancing rocks.
Keeping my sanity
in the time of COVID-19 lockdown.
My Rock A throwback to an ancient craft.
Balancing Act The art of stacking rocks.

Today Trying to get the hang of it.

Setting a sober moment in my solitude
Cesar G. Aljama under the shade of the mango tree.
Selecting stones of various shapes, colors, and sizes
from among those scattered in the garden.
Feeling their quirkiness, smoothness,
lumps, depressions, clefts, and crevices.
Sizing up their weights.
Lifting. Positioning. Rearranging.
A little twist here. A swift shift there.
Careful, calculated movements.
Securing the rocks in place.
Imbibing the essence of Zen
in the act of balancing.
Harnessing my patience—
rock after every solitary rock,

48
stone after every single stone.
In silent, meditative state of mind.
Focusing on each stone’s center of gravity
in conjunction with one another.
Connecting. Linking. Attuning
my energy with that of the rocks.
Sensing the precise lock spots.
Hearing the imaginary click
that travels in an instant
from the stones to my fingers,
hands, and arms onto my mind.
Letting my fingers go, ever so gently,
away from the last and top rock—
not necessarily the smallest stone.
The euphoria at the moment of release.
The ephemeral satisfaction of seeing
the rocks in delicate balance.
The absolute state of equilibrium.
The poetic moment.
The evanescent bliss.
The serenity of the stones.
Disregarding the accidental bruises,
nicks, and cuts on the hands, fingers, and nails.
Aching muscles. Such negligible pain
in exchange for what is gained.
And the transient sadness
that it concomitantly brings—
knowing that, eventually,
a gust of wind, an incidental movement,
or perhaps, a force from nowhere,
will topple and scatter
the rocks far away
from each other once again.
A momentary loss
that cuts a fleeting wound in the heart.
A lesson in letting go
of things that are best left alone—
that leave sweet memories
fossilized in the mind.
49
 Photo by Fitzgerald Abejo.

50

TickTock
Lourdes Dominique R. Panganiban
The colon of the digital chronometer
blinks in a silent tick-tock
as my semicolon
transforms into a dot.
I’d take the batteries out
of every clock,
to make time stop,
have it turn back,
or at least slow down,
but the calendars are up
to say my time is running out.
The results are out:
my lungs are giving up.
51
 To Shave Off My Beard
Glenn Tek-ing Muñez

Something must be done, Something must be done,

plates are cleaned the money plant on the window sill,
shirts carefully ironed, the brittle stems
folded, tucked in the cabinet, craning on the window grill,
no dents on the tiled floor, no specks like beard—
whose whiteness is whiter than milk. restless, patchy.

“What time now?” asked the walls. Outside, it is raining,

No one minded. outside, a nurse is walking,
Not even the window outside, a man, perhaps a father
that bears the portrait of Patience. is walking, both bear
Time is rain, after all, the weight of rain.

Ah, yes,
tomorrow, the days after
tomorrow, some things must be done.

Today, I will shave off my beard

for some things must be done.

52
Project: Wash, Repeat. Photo by Roberto Miguel A. Lava.

53
 Zita:
A Pandemic and a Little Hope
Genesy Timonera

Carol—
The streets are busier than usual Monday mornings, provincial buses are filled with passengers and the police
officers are more than their usual count, Carol thought as she was waiting for her alaga and tightly gripping
packed lunch boxes for both of them. She waits at one of the benches while barely recognizing banters behind
the voices of those covered in loose-fitting non-woven fabrics. She isn’t wearing any but she isn’t scared. She is
reminded of how she went to different drug stores, supermarkets, and fall in a long line along with impatient
customers only to find out that stocks for essentials are out. She believes that she’s one of the unfortunate ones
who get to survive day by day through hustle and nothing else. Her years of struggle through working side
jobs have made her strong that it won’t make her susceptible to any virus. What she worries is her family in the
province, her reduced salary, and what will become of her unfortunate life. The school bell rings and she sees Zita
from afar. Her tiny structure could barely keep pace with the other running kids but her face mirrors purity and
innocence that never fails to ease Carol’s heart. She has been taking care of Zita since she was born and has seen
her grow into a sweet and wise child. Zita could not contain her excitement as she screams “No more classes”
to her yaya. When she glances back at the other helpers, parents and people wearing face masks, they are all in a
hurry, she already understands what that means.
Jenny—
She requires no alarm to wake up at four o’clock in the morning, drinks dark coffee while chopping onions,
putting them into a hot pan, and toasts bread all at the same time as if every movement around the kitchen is
part of her reflexes, a system that time has embedded into her. Jenny knows her way around the house while
maintaining beauty and grace notwithstanding bearing two children and with her husband on duty most of the
time. Mondays are very busy days. She gathers her strength on weekends to prepare for the first day of school and
work of the week. When the kids and her husband bid her goodbye that morning, she sighs of relief.

54
Her radiance glows with the morning sun as she makes
her way to the wet market. She wants to feel the sun on
her skin but her stretched out pants and oversized shirt
cover her skin and even though she always hated the
stinky smell in the wet market, she does not mind at all
as long as she can get rid of the mask which covered
most of her face.
“I have grown accustomed to my life all these years but
I can never get used to this mask”, she tells her kumare
while gesturing to the people around her, separated by
almost a meter-long stick. She never really understands
it although her husband had given her specific
instructions almost every night before bed.
Clean your hands with soap and water or hand sanitizer before
touching the mask. Avoid touching the front of the mask. Make
sure the mask is completely secure. Make sure it covers your nose
and mouth so that the bottom edge is under your chin.
Her apparent smirk baffles the fish vendor as she
realizes how she can recite the words her
husband has been teaching her. Such smugness is
disturbed upon seeing the few vegetables and a couple
of fish she got.
“Is this all that you got? Come on, give me the good
ones inside. I am a regular here”
“That’s all that we have for now Jenny. Supplies are
limited due to checkpoints,” the vendor handed her
few more tomatoes.
“That’s all that we have for now, Jenny. Supplies are
limited due to checkpoints,” the vendor hands her few
more tomatoes.
Carol has always liked how Jenny cooks for the family
but she notices how Jenny scowls while serving green
beans on the table. Jenny thinks they could have a
sumptuous lunch if she did not avoid the crowd. Zita
picks a bean covered with sauce, her head slightly
elevated above the table, and grabs one bite after the
other. “Mama, this bean is healthy. Right?” Zita picks
another. Displaying delight in her big brown eyes as she
looks upward to her mother.
“Yes, it is. Eat more. I could have cooked a more
delicious meal if only I am allowed to buy ingredients
from the bigger market. The wet market does not have
enough stocks now.”
“Hmm, it’s really delicious Ma.” Before Jenny could
even respond, Zita has placed her head on her mother’s
shoulder. “Mama as long as we have healthy food and
you do not catch colds and cough.” Jenny flushes. She
has never thought that at a young age, Zita would
think about her safety. Her eyes shrivel as tears begin
falling down her cheeks. She holds Zita close for
several moments until she notices how Carol is close to
dropping a tear. Embarrassed, she asks Zita and Carol to
fetch James.
55
 James—
Working from home.

Home, he thinks.

A week has passed since James took up working under a flexible working arrangement and leaving his own
place empty. He never stayed at his parents’ home for more than a couple of days since he began working.
Picture frames are arranged differently. The sofa is set in an unusual place. He absorbs these things in a
slow observant manner, as if seeing them for the first time.

The montage of his childhood splatters in mid-air when he feels his phone vibrate. Each phone call keeps
adding to the bucket-load of cases he needs to figure out. As a lawyer based in the hotspot of the virus, the
legal processes have become drearier with several arrests and violations. And when the computer screen
becomes overwhelming and the strenuous pleading seems unending, he then turns to online gaming.

Zita first felt James’ remoteness when he no longer shares his video games with her since he began
working. He seems to be preoccupied most of the time that she could not squeeze in a little playtime, even
if she has to beg.

While waiting for her brother she observes the piles of papers and hardbound books on his
working table. James is talking over the phone, his lips becoming narrowed and thin, his eyebrows
drawing in. It is a glaring and hooded look she has only seen few times when he fought against her bullies.
She is simply sitting there, staring blankly into the computer screen. She does not have any idea what a
lawyer does. He approaches her with a long face that is ready to angrily reproach her for invading his
private space, but James just sighs. It is not a sigh of relief. It is hopelessness. Zita is confused and thinks
how her brother’s world is something she couldn’t break through anymore.

James has so much more in mind, consistently contemplating on how to better the world for his younger
sister. He thinks about how sinister the world that awaits her has become. He wants to play and talk with
her but cannot find the right words to say. The brother Zita considers her hero has become powerless.

56
The pandemic made him feeble and defenseless, akin to scrapping the sword of justice as he witnesses the outcry
of the masses. It is ironic how he could argue for a living, yet cannot find the right words to communicate with his
little sister. He stretches his arm reaching for the game console, yearning to play the cybergame in what could be
the only dimension he could actually participate and triumph as a hero.

“Kuya, let’s eat.” Zita disturbs his thoughts.

“You guys go first. I’ll eat after finishing this” setting up the video game.

“You can’t save the world with an empty stomach, Kuya. I don’t understand what you are doing Kuya but I’m sure
that you are helping other people just like how you have always defended me. But you can’t save them if you won’t
take care of yourself.”

Zita gives him a look, the same gaze she lavished him after he protected her from bullies. It was those sparkling
eyes, the tight grip on his arms that articulated her confidence and faith towards her older brother. Carol, half
smiling towards the siblings approaches Zita, assists her to don her shoes again. James recognizes the familiar
look that affirms “I believe in you.”

Rodolfo—
An open top container attached to a semi-circular carrying handle filled with water, a set of loose and warm
garments, a damp towel and a bottle of ethyl alcohol welcomes Rodolfo home after a twelve-hour shift as an
attending nurse. He washes his body outside their front door, puts all his belongings inside a basket before he
is allowed to step a single foot inside their house. His exhausted body is accustomed to this sanitizing routine.
Although he fears that over time his knees might wear out from walking, only the image of Jenny and his children
waiting for him drags his dog-tired body safely home.

“How long are we going to be like this? Our money is running out. We do not have enough food.” The
uncertainty begins to absorb Jenny. He could see how she’s holding back tears.

“Today, Carol fetched Zita and went home early because they postponed classes. How is she going to learn? How

57
is she going to learn? How are we going to pay Carol
without James working on a regular basis? And Carol
wants to go home. How are we going to send her home
now? There are no available buses going to the province.
I am scared, Rodolfo. And Zita, our sweet child, how are
we going to explain…”
She catches Rodolfo’s eyes mid-sentence staring at the
bottom flight of stairs. They could see Zita peeking
through the edge of the railings. He opens his arms as
Zita comes forward, squeezing herself between them.
Zita climbs into the arms of her father and stretches a
finger to wipe Jenny’s tears off.
“You must be frightened Zita but don’t be. I will
protect you, Kuya, and Mama at all costs. For now it is
important that we keep ourselves healthy and safe. Stay
at home. Always follow what your mama says when I’m
not here, okay?”
“Yes Pa. I want to play outside so bad but Mama said that
it is not okay. So Kuya told me that we will play tomorrow.
And you know what Papa, Mama cooked a vegetable dish
that was so delicious. It’s sad you missed it Papa.”
It has already been weeks of toxic hospital duties, pulling
his fatigued body home, thinking about the life that
awaits them, but he presses himself to be strong and still
until he recognizes the longing from his child’s voice.
He slowly sits down, as if his knees were failing him.
58
What he feels is more than just tiredness. Feeling crippled
and incapable of providing for his family’s survival, he
finds himself on his knees weeping.
James sees how his father broke down. He remembers
how he has been working day and night shifts to defend
other people but he cannot stand up for his own family.
He holds his father’s arms because words are failing him.
Carol watches from a distance thinking how this
pandemic has placed a toll even on the best of people
she knows. I am not alone; she heaves a sigh of relief.
She ponders about how her anxiety is not an isolated
case, but one that is even shared by the family she serves.
They struggle too, but in different ways. Something melts
inside her, as if her face gave off some heat. And this is
tearing down the wall of belief that she is indispensable.
Her life currently resembles a graveyard of buried hopes.
Zita turns to her. “Just hold me Yaya,” the girl implores as
Carol holds on to her for several minutes before leading
her to the rest of the family.
“Mama, when I grow up, I want to be like you.” Zita says.
“Why baby? Because you like my delicious food?
“Yes, Ma and because you are a strong Mama. My
classmates said that we are going to get sick but you always
cook healthy food and watch over me. I don’t think I will
get sick and even if I do, Papa is going to heal me.”
“So, you are not scared?” James asks.

“They said that there are so many bad things around, but I am not scared. Papa, Mama, and you Kuya
always take care of me and of each other. I have my family that protects me. That includes you, Yaya Carol.
Yaya it is okay to be sad but remember that you have us too.”

The rest of the family smiled at Carol. And she is relieved that they did. As long as we got each other we
will get through this, she muses. They care. When I lacked even the self-care to keep myself alive by merely
wearing a mask, here they are, caring for me to stay safe. To live with them. It’s not the life I hoped and I
prayed for, but this is enough for now.

“Yes Zita, you are my family. Thank you.” Carol whispers softly.

Her eyes have gotten even smaller as she cries while tucking her alaga in. She realizes how the pandemic
has somehow incapacitated them, that they are human beings grappling with the same fears, doubts and
uncertainties. But her alaga, a little bundle of joy and of faith, has an unflinching grasp of hope despite the
bleakness that the future portends. And somehow that is all that it takes to survive, day by day. When light
seems far-fetched, she thought how it’s okay to find validation and hope from the people around you.

She kisses her forehead and wipes her tears away. She is surprised to see Jenny observing from the outside.
She hands out tissue paper and taps her shoulders.

“Do you know where we got Zita’s name?” Jenny asks.

“She’s named after the last empress of Austria. She was the image of unity after the war, she loved purely
and dearly that she didn’t even remarry after being widowed at the age of twenty-nine. An asteroid circling
the sun was even named after her…”

Do you know what Zita means?” Jenny adds before Carol could even collect herself. She shakes her head.

“A little hope.” Jenny finally says.

59
 In the Next Room
Vincen Gregory Yu
In the next room,
a bald man, gaunt, old enough
to be my grandfather, and a woman
young enough to be my child.
Mostly he sleeps, and she reads
by the window, bathed
in the afternoon light.
60
When they speak,
it is in language so gentle,
they seem to be singing
in a sweet, alien tongue.
They hug and kiss, lie next
to each other in a bed
built to fit only one—
luxuries in a hospital
where touch has been all
but outlawed.
Once I caught them
in a fit of laughter, the TV
playing a noontime show.
The bandaged stump
where his leg used to be
barely moved. Their laughter
grew, breath and spit
mixing in the pocket of space
between their faces.
They laughed and touched
and did not fear.
 Kung magiging tapat ako sa iyo, hindi ko
ipinagtapat lahat ng impormasyong iyong piniga
kahit hahatulan nang itinutok mo
ang sandata sa sentido ko at mailahad ang dahilan

ng pagpapatingin: nagtagal na lagnat na itinala mo

sa listahan ng aking maikling kasaysayang
medikal. Saka mo lang binakas
ang aking heograpiya, kung saang lupalop ako nakapulot
Kasaysayan ng pumupulupot na sakit. Sa isip,
Paul Alcoseba Castillo nailigaw na kita sa gawa-gawang mapang iginuhit
sa hangin. Buhay pala
ang hawak ko kahit hindi kita nahawakan.

Everybody lies. Nahawahan nang makawala sa mga puwang

—House M.D. ng pantakip sa ilong at bibig ko ang mga patak
na dumapo sa iyong bahagi
ng silid sa isang saglit habang inililigtas

ang pagmamatigas ko. Ano pa’ng silbi ng pagsasabi

ng totoo kundi pagtunton sa akin kahit walang
itutugon. Kung tutuosin, bala ang bahing
na lumabas sa bibig kong nagwalang-bahala sa iyo.

61
62
Hingal

63
 Bago pa natin maiputong
Ang korona ng matandang paniniwala
Mula baboy patungong daga,
Tinangay na ng takot at sakit
Ang pagbabagong-mukha sana
Ng ating taunang tadhana.

Makaraang lamunin ng apoy

Ang kagubatan ng Australia’t Cordillera
At magbanta ang Amerika
Ng panibagong giyera,
May kumawalang lumang virus
Ang Konstruksiyon Na hindi natin lubusang matuos
Kung galing ba sa balintong
ng Emerhensiya O paniking hinuli’t ikinulong
Sa isang palengke (o baka laboratoryo)
Kristoffer B. Berse Ng mga ihalas ang likaw
Ng bituka at bisyo.

Kumalat ang epidemya

Sa iba’t ibang panig ng mundo,
At kalauna’y sinakop
Ang pamamahinga’t paghinga
Maging ng mga aso.

Sa Pilipinas, matapos ang halos

Dalawang buwang pag-iingat
Na hindi masugatan ang damdamin
Ng mga komprador ni Xi Jinping,

64
Nagkandarapa ang mga opisyal
Na hulihin ang salarin:
Hinalughog ang social media
Upang makahanap ng terorista
At binusalan ang salita
Ng batas at banta.

Dinagsa ang mga ospital

Ng mga alalahanin at hinaing.
Paano kung mapuno ang mga ICU,
Sasapat ba ang bilang
Ng masisilungang mga puno?
Paano kung magkakaubusan ng mask,
Lab gown, face shield at gloves,
Mapapabagal ba ng dasal
Ang paggapang ng hawa
Sa baga ng mga doktor at nars?

Ang mga maysakit ay lalong magkakasakit

At ang ibang mga patay, oo, ang mga patay,
Ay kailangan munang pumila
Bago maisalang sa pugon
At maibalik bilang alaala ng abo
Sa loob ng garapon (o supot
Kung walang pambili ng urna).

Oras-oras,
Ipinapanganak ang kaba
Sa naknak ng pagkabalisa.

65
 O Mr. President, sa classroom may batas.
Dapat na mag-comply, oh bawal lumabas,
pero may pasaway sa ‘pinagbabawal,
ang sarap ng búhay! At kapag umusal,
aastang kawawa
at kahabag-habag,
huwag daw isumbong
na sila’y lumabag.

O Mr. President, excuse ang naghugas-

kamay. Kahit bully ang turing kay Sinas,
loitering si Koko at si Mocha Daldal
O Mr. President, Basta class officers, ‘matik na marangal.
Hindi raw masamâ
sa Classroom ang kanilang hangad,

may Batas kung magtipon-tipon

man, walang nilabag.

(halaw kay W.W.) O Mr. President, penge pong sardinas,

palabas ni Cardo, at pati rin lunas
Dakila Cutab sa sakít at sákit nitong bagong normal.
Labag sa damdamin ang usaping karnal,
“Ikaw nga ba si Mr. Right? (Mr. Right)” ngunit ano’ng nasà?
~ Kim Chiu Shoot them dead ba agad
ang tanging solusyon
sa mga lumabag?

66
 Nagbububusá ang bibig
sa mga bali-balita:
“Sasampalin ko ‘yang COVID!”

ika ng pangulong galit

sa pagbitaw nitong banta.
Nagbububusá ang bibig

sa kanyang pahayag. Ibig

pakinggan ang panukalang:
“Sasampalin ko ‘yang COVID!”

“Sasampalin ko At sa hindi makikinig

‘yang COVID” ay ikukulong nang kusa.
Nagbububusá ang bibig

(isang COVID-llanelle) sa nais ipahiwatig

na siya ay tuwang-tuwa,
Dakila Cutab “Sasampalin ko ‘yang COVID!”

Sa badyang babalagíit,
siya raw ay laging handa:
nagbububusá ang bibig,
“Sasampalin ko ‘yang COVID!”

67
 No Face Mask, No Entry. Photo by Ivan Joshua A. Castor.

68
Obligation. Photo by Roberto Miguel A. Lava.

69
 Utos
Orland Agustin Solis
Sinunod ko ang utos niya
na hawiin ang mga kurtina
at pagmasdang maiigi
ang mga alikabok
na kumakapal sa bawat araw.

Nilibot ko ang bahay–

ang salang pinamamahayan
ng kartong higaan; ng tagpi-tagping sanga.
Ninamnam ko ang amoy
ng mga nabubulok sa sobrang katandaan.

70
Walang-pahingang
sumasayaw ang yerong bulok, ang mga anay–
habang umaakyat-baba
sa haliging kahoy tangan ang lupang
kakarampot. Panghain siguro
sa mesa. Naroon ang mga langgam:
pula, itim, katamtaman ang biga’t laki.

Nakadapo rin ang limampung langaw– Minsan, tinatanong na lamang ang sarili:
nakatunganga, naghihintay ng mga tira-tira Ganito ba ang buhay na kayang ibigay
upang may mapagpipiyestehan ni Tatay sa marami niyang anak?
kung sakali. Ngunit, kami rin ay nakatunganga
sa kawalan. Sapat na ba ang mura na
kakarampot sa umagahan?
Oo nga’t nalibot ko na ang aming tahanan. At wikang lasinggerong
Ngunit hindi ko pa rin malilimutan ang lasa, nakakatakam sa hapunan?
ang amoy ng sardinas na hinati-hati naming
noong nakaraang linggo, sa kasalukuyan,
at sa susunod pang mga araw.

71
 Breakage
Ralph Fonte

The first time I beheld Death was in the form of a child. It was late afternoon in midsummer;
I was a third-year medical student on my first 24-hour duty in the emergency room. He was
wheeled into the pediatric ER unconscious and smelling faintly of kerosene. His grandmother
was weeping. We watched as the residents intubated him. He was still alive. Of all the things
to remember: his orange tanktop, the cloth, grimy and torn as his chest rose and fell with the
ventilator’s every breath. And later, how starkly white my gloved hands seemed against his chest
as I pressed my weight again and again on his still heart, willing it to beat. I stopped when the
doctors told me to stop. We all stopped. They checked for the time. The grandmother’s grief
was a summer storm. How suddenly silent everything seemed: a child’s dark body relieved of
tubing and breath.

There are many ways of breaking. Once, I saw a woman spew a river of dark blood the night
before she was to be discharged. A few minutes later she was dead. Another: I saw a mother
choke blue on a steel bed, felt her deflate into cold rubber as her carotid collapsed beneath my
fingers and her mouth gaped lamely like fish on land. Her husband stared at his empty palms. I
went home to sleep. A motorcycle crashes into a tree somewhere in Cavite and a man is rushed
to a hospital in Manila. He was drunk when it happened. It was raining. I secure a brace around
his broken neck. It was three in the morning and he would never walk again. I yawn on the way
to Radiology; it was all his fault anyway. When the old man dies, the resident asks me to explain
his death. Why the fury of lines in place of a steady heartbeat. Why he choked in spite of air.
Sweat and bile seep into my white pants. I do not know the answer only the inconvenience of a
patient’s breath. The resident mocks me: how could I not know? I shrug.

72
They do not teach you grief and you do not learn. Instead, constant motion: a plastic tube sliding into
the mouth of a newborn, a needle biting into an outstretched arm, steel claws retracting skin and fat
and a flap of liver. My body was always a coiled spring then. Death, always a relief. I knew nothing but
weariness and the plaster flaking off the hospital walls and the certainty that I wanted to disappear. I
detested everything: the cracked tiles, the crowded wards, the makeshift IV stands, the interminable
hours. Day bled into night into day into night and somewhere between the blue
shadows I felt my body shivering into dust.

I have fallen asleep standing. I barely slept. When someone died, relief instead of grief: one less person
to slave away for. I happily cross out the name on the monitoring list and evening contracts. Every
morning we discussed illness, dissected mortality into minutiae, into cytokines and ECG waveforms
and doses of epinephrine. Which is to say, into meaninglessness. When an old father inevitably chokes
on his congealing blood, I could never tell you what it means, only of the perforation in his intestines.

I should have left then. When I could. I tell myself this over and over but when could I have truly left?
I signed a contract with the government before entering the UP College of Medicine; had I walked
away I would have been legally bound to pay in full the entire unsubsidized cost of five years of medical
education. So I stayed instead. Threaded cannulae through crumpled veins before the world could wake.
Excised lumps of fat from strangers while half-asleep. Cut cities of newborn babies from their mothers’

73
 wombs. Time never mattered. I could not leave. Could not refuse to wake. Thus I learned to
deny the quick return of dawn and its attendant dread. Forget the duty cycles. Here’s a trick: do
not sleep even after thirty six hours of work. Get drunk instead in Poblacion, in some dim bar,
until the neon lights blur pointillist and the dark streets become another city where for a few
moments you do not yet have a name or a patient to attend.

And what is death but immeasurable change? A body in decay is different from a body alive
only in its stillness. Somewhere within itself, a corpse still breathes. Fungal blooms. Insect eggs.
Mere sentiment is what we preserve when we save a life. Defibrillation. Ventilation. Intravenous
medication. The cardiac monitor tells me that a patient is stable: the steady heart rate, the
regular breaths, the normal blood pressure, good oxygenation but what of meaning? Soon, the
monitor blinks red and everything collapses. I compress the patient’s chest to the beat of a song:
Eye of the Tiger. There is no thrill. The body does not give beneath my weight. The heart fails
as it does. The still body a body still. Time of death: I do not even blink.

Now we are all a breath away from death. Now I know to profit from suffering. Last Saturday,
when the ward called to inform me and my colleague on-duty of a patient gasping for air, I felt
the hospital walls groan. The lights almost flickered. The threat of contagion hung like quiet
knives each time someone breathed. Perhaps I could still leave. I remember my unfulfilled
plans. The hike to Annapurna. SCUBA diving in Tubbataha. Suddenly, meaning in spite of
immeasurable change. Minutes blur: the absence of a pulse, another river of dark blood. Gloved
hands bearing down on a still heart. Somewhere, a wife wailing in grief. And again, an orange
shirt, all grime and tears.

My breath condenses against the face shield. I could not leave. I wish I could.

74
 Pula ang kulay ng pag-asa–
nakapinta sa mga lansangan, kalsada,
litrato’t alaala.

Pula ang maskara ng mga sumalampak,

ng mga inandayan ng sangkaterbang bala
Pula sa leeg, sa puso, at sa kanilang mga mata.

Orland Agustin Solis Pula rin ang kulay ng mga punong

Saksi sa nakasusulasok na amoy
ng pinabayaang bayrus kuno ng lipunan.

Pula raw ang kulay ng bakuna,

ang magliligpit at pupuksa sa virus
sa bansa–ang komunista.

Pula ang kulay ng kalaayan.

Ang pulang may iilang tala
ay siyang susupilin ng taumbayan.

Ngunit, alam at alam kung pula rin

ang maging kulay ng kalangitan–
sa patuloy na paglaban

sa virus ng kasakima’t katarantaduhan.

75
 Lumiliit na ang mundo, sa mga huling araw
na itinakdang palugit bago isara
ang mga hanggahan ng lungsod, lansangan,
tarangkahan, at pintong hahati sa tao.

Sa pamilihan, pinaghihinalaan ang mga nakapilang

Lockdown may hawak na listahan ng mga pangambang
muling pupunan: lahat ng makapapatay
Paul Alcoseba Castillo sa mikrobiyo. Binibilang: ibinayad na nagbabadyang
magsusukli ng sakit. Minumukhaan: nakasalamuhang
nakamaskarang hindi makikilala. Kapuwa
humahakot ng takot na ibabalot bago umuwi.

Huling kakanin hanggang sa wakas

at magbukas ang siyudad.

Lumuluwas ang libo-libong

umiiwas na makulong
sa sentro: ang simula
ng sentensiya sa resistensiya.

Reclusion ang ihahatol

sa lahat ng tututol
o magugutom. At isasama
sa seldang sumisikip,
sumisikip.

76
Disiplina. Photo by Roberto Miguel A. Lava.

77
 Lockdown Marketing
Ferdinand Pisigan Jarin
Nang magsimula ang lockdown, tinanggap
ko nang hindi na muna ako isang
propesyonal. Bumalik na ako sa pagiging
ama at asawa. At may nadagdag pa. Ako na
ang nag-iisang tagapamalengke ng pamilya.
Aaminin ko, paraiso ang pamamalengke
sa panahon ng lockdown. Wala na ang
kinaiinisang salubungan ng maraming tao
at sasakyan. Maluwag kahit ang kaloob-
loobang bituka ng mga daanan patungo sa
mga pinakaliblib na tindahan. Higit sa lahat,
mabilis na ang pamamalengke. Dahil
solong-katawan ko na ang gawain, wala na
akong katalong asawa sa mga produktong
dadamputin at maninindang kakausapin.
78
Dampot dito, dampot doon ang
mantra ng “lockdown marketing”.
Mabilisan. May virus na umaaligid kaya
dapat mabilisan ang dampot. Mabagal
ang dating ng mga suplay kung kaya’t
isang malaking pagkakamali ang
mangarap ka pa ng partikular na brand
o kondisyon ng mga bibilhin.
Petsay lang ang petsay. Kamatis
lang ang kamatis. Sardinas lang ang
sardinas.
Nawala na ang konsepto ng lantutay,
lasog , o, kung alin ang mas masarap
na brand.
Sa grocery store, pumipila ako sa kaherang katulad ng ibang haligi ng tahanan. Habang nakapila, nakaramdam
ako ng pagmamalaki sa dibdib na kaya kong buhayin ang aking mag-ina dahil sa tangan kong maraming
plastik. Nagiginhawahan ang utak ko na may laman pa ang aking wallet at may sahod pang paparating kahit pa
nakatigil ang lahat ng trabaho.

Pero isang araw iyon na habang nakapila ako, at ako na sana ang kasunod na aasikasuhin ng kahera, nang
mabibinbin nang mas matagal ang pila. Paano’y ang isang Ama na tulad ko’y mabubutasan ng plastik na
sisidlan ng kanyang pambayad. Sasabog ang barya sa sahig. Taranta siyang mabilis na dadamputin sa sahig
ang mga barya. Mabilis din kaming ibang mga Ama sa pila na makikipulot ng barya para tulungan s’ya. Nang
makatayo’y ngingiti siya at lubos na magpasasalamat sa amin. Tatagal pa ng bahagya ang kanyang pagbabayad
dahil sa binibilang na barya.

Habang tinutuos na ng kahera ang aking mga pinamili, masusulyapan ko ang ibang lalaki na nakapila pa.
Katulad halos ng lalaking nasabugan ng barya ang itsura. Mga nakatsinelas, mga mas sunog ang balat kesa
sa akin. Maaalala kong nasa probinsiya na nga pala ako ngayon nakatira. Kung saan mas maraming Ama ang
nagtatrabaho sa bukid at dagat. Walang wallet. Walang inaabangang sweldo.

Hindi pala lahat ng mabilisang pagdampot sa panahong ito ay katumbas ng mabilisang pamamalengke.

79
 Parusa itong ipinataw sa ating mga pandama
para sa pagpaparaos ng sarap sa nakabalot sa katawan.

Para maghilom ang nalikhang butas sa daigdig,

sasabihin ng ilan, kaya pagtatagpuin natin ang sariling

mga palad kaysa magkadaop ang mga panalangin

ng ama namin. Komunyon na ang pagpila’t pag-apela
Distansiya
Paul Alcoseba Castillo sa sinasamba. Lalong napapalayo sa pananalig
na makauuwi pa tayo sa takot na makahawa

ang halik sa minamahal kaya ang yakap ay aayawan,

aanhin pa ang pagmamano sa paniniwalang hindi

mawawala ang paggalang. Huling pananggalang

na maihuhubad sa atin habang nasa harap tayo ng tahanan.

80
Sa halip, susuotan tayo sa mga pulso ng posas
dahil nilabag natin ang pagnanasang maranasan pa

ang nasa labas. Gagalugarin ang natitirang lugar

na hindi pa nararating ng paghaharaya. Hangga’t may harang

ang bawat lansangan papunta sa tagpuan ng dating

iniibig, ang ruta ng pagmartsa ng sinalihang protesta,

o kapiraso ng kalsada para maglaro ng patintero.

Iginuguhit ang mga hanggahan ng paghabol at mahawakan

ang laylayan ng damit. Matataya maging ang lalampas

sa itinakdang tanda sa sahig ng ating pagtupad.

Kung may ligtas na linya lang, bakit pa hahakbang

muli gayong papalapit na sa dulo ng pila. Uusad

ang dasal nating mga nakahandang madama ang pagdampi

ng patawad pero madadamay sa dadapo sa ating mga dila.

81
 Pagpapakilala
Jose Monfred C. Sy
Kilala mo na ba si Elaine?
Sumunod ka sa mga bilin niya,
ha? Siya na muna ang bahala
sa iyo para sa akin.
Sasamahan siya ni Ricky, Marlon
at saka ni Luzviminda—Lucy
for short. Mga nars.
Dalawa na ang napagtapos ni Elaine.
Si Ricky at Lucy naman
walang mga pamilya. Wala pa.
Si Kyla, wala na. (Hindi na raw umabot
sa testing.) Si Ricky, single
pero di na umaasa
(nagpapakita na raw siya ng sintomas).
Maaari mo silang tawagin kung
may kailangan kang hindi
ko maibibigay
o kaya
kung napapanglaw ka
sa kalawakan ng masikip na ward
maaari kang makinig sa mga kuwento
82
ni Nanay Lilia—sa pagitan ng plastik
na humahati sa silid ninyo—o ni
Kuya Dodoy—sa ibayong sulok—
bago hawanin ng pneumonia
ang kanilang boses.
Bibitawan muna kita,
mahal. Kailangang magtrabaho
hindi raw saklaw ng PhilHealth
ang kaso mo, babala ni Dok Beth
noong palabas ako.
Sa pasilyo ko nakilala
si Manong Gil, bulnerable sa pneumonia
sa tanda niya. Kulang raw ang ayuda
kaya lilinisin niya nang maigi
ang ward niyo. Malaki ang ambag
ni Edith na tagapili ng palapag
na bubuksan ng elevator.
Sinamahan niya ako—mangiyak-ngiyak
sa sakit na dinaramdam ng ligtas—
pababa.
Si Bogs at Boy naman ang bantay
sa bukana ng ospital.
Malayo sa mga kamag-anak.
Malapit sa iyo.
Sa entrada ng pandemya
nagsitaklob tayo ng mukha
sa pag-asang di makilala
ni Kamatayan,
mga namumugtong mata
ang tanging senyales ng buhay.
Ngunit maging si Kamatayan
nakasuot ng facemask.
Ililista ko ang pangalan ng lahat
para sa iyo, mahal. Bawat doktor at nars,
bawat ale at kuya. Natatakot ako
na di mo sila makilala
tulad ng mga kaibigan sa lansangan
na hindi natin mamukhaan:
iisa ang hitsura,
iniisa ng gobyerno sa bilang.
Hanggang Saan. Photo by Jaho Rojo.
Wala pang lunas ngunit igigiit
ni Elaine, Ricky, Marlon, Lucy,
Kyla, Nanay Lilia, Kuya Dodoy,
Dok Beth, Manong Gil,
Edith, Bogs, Boy,
natin.

83
 Di na kita kilala, umaga, kahit isang metro lang ang agwat natin.
Kahapon lang, may lambing ang ‘yong busina sa kalsada
kahit kagigising mo pa lang. Ngayon, di ka kumikibo
kaya dumadagundong ang dibdib ko
sa pagpunta sa botikang binalutan ng plastik
para sa sampung Losartan ni nanay.
Sana, umaga, pinigilan mo ang pagliliwaliw ko sa daan
Di Na Kita Kilala, ng di magkamayaw, humihiyaw na mga taong
Umaga tinatabingan ang mukha
sa pag-aabot sa Hanna Shampoo, Safeguard, Quickchow,
Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. Kopiko Brown, Ligo Sardines, Burger McDo at Chickenjoy.

Para makilala ulit kita, umaga, gawin mong pipi

ang mamamayan at pamahalaan
sa kanilang pingkian at patutsadahan
sa daanan ng mga mata at tenga pati ng bituka.
Kumukulta ito sa utak ko, sumisikil sa hininga
dahil nagpapatakas ito ng mga bahing at laway
na nakasakay sa alimbukay ng alikabok
na siyang kumikitil sa kabang-bayan at lakas ng loob,
at naisip kong baka tama siya, iyong nagsasabi
na mas madulas na kaaway ang pipigtal sa bawat hininga.
Kaya ba may barikada ang lahat ng kanto
at ang patutunguhan ko, idinidikta’t ibinubulyaw
ng mga naka-megaphone na politiko at sundalo?
Kinakatay ako ng kakitiran ng isip at kakulangan ng pang-unawa
sa pagkawala ng trabaho at sa di madiskubreng gamot.

84
 Serene. Photo by Jahjiel Pajutan.

Pag-uwi ko, umaga, mag-aalmusal ako ng rasyong noodles

sa barong-barong para mapagdikit ang punit-punit
na pang-unawa ukol sa COVID-19 ng pandemyang ito.
Ibibilanggo ko na naman ang sarili na kasama si nanay
dahil makapangyarihan ang lockdown
at ang kalayaan ko, ang tuluyang pagkilala sa ‘yo.

85
 —about hitting your children if they begin symptoms.

As your father did when it took you more

than a second to respond.

One day, you understood the tears of your mother

when you were old enough to understand.

That was when he left

and this was your childhood.
Stricken by a Joke Was it not a great violence to be
at the Dinner Table torn apart from something.

Ma. Jhayle Ann Marie Z. Meer You wish to be with

a person, your body, even a thought.

One forgets to anticipate

the next cold body.

Just because there is nothing

strictness cannot solve.

Not this sickness,

not this, virus-stricken.

86
I keep my distance from you
to keep us safe.

You have your own language: closed fists,

holding a lifeline tight.

As if to open these fists

and to touch is to hurt.

Or to incur the possibility

of death.

“Congratulations, your generation

bears witness to everything.”

More and more, you reveal your

face to me.

Your need to command

the flow of my thoughts.

As if to think is to incite
sedition to tradition.

It is also now that you threaten me

with a shadow of your past.

Father, I refuse to flinch.

87
 Kamunsil
Ferdinand Pisigan Jarin

Tag-araw na nga. Kanina’y inalok ako ni Manang ng Kamunsil ( Kamatsile ). Huminto s’ya sa tapat ng bahay.
Hinintay akong makababa ng sasakyan. Kagagaling ko lamang noon sa palengke. Sobrang init. Plano ko nang
makapasok agad sa bahay, sana. Uhaw na uhaw na ako.

Sabi ko’y “Marami na po akong napamili. Pasensiya na ho. Sa susunod na lang”.

Napangiti s’ya nang alanganin. May pinigil sana pero lumabas pa rin sa bibig n’ya.

“ Pambili man lang ng bugas, ser”.

Mabilis kong hinugot ang aking wallet. Isandaang piso raw ang isang supot ng Kamunsil. Maaari na raw sa
tatlong kilong bugas. Nagdagdag ako ng tatlumpong piso. Sabi ko’y gawin nang apat na kilo. Malayo kami ni
Manang sa isa’t isa habang nag-uusap. Pareho kasi kaming walang face mask. Lalayo-lalapit-lalayo kami sa gitna
nang espasyo na nakapagitan sa amin.

Nilapag n’ya ang supot ng Kamunsil sa gitna.

Ipinatong ko ang pera sa supot.

Dadamputin n’ya ang pera.

Kinuha ko ang supot.

Kakaiba ang tag-araw na ito sa lahat. Maraming pinalilitaw na agwat.

88
Hope Hope is hungry. A raptor among raptors.
The paradise-eater. Swollen
Jeremy Cordero With silver-linings. Dining
on dreams of you gobbling
home-scratched cookies.
So you go to the half-full
supermarket in reality
To buy flour,
To buy chocolate chips.
--- All out ---
What will hope eat now?
It opens its beak like a crazed yearling.
It wants more stick children,
more dying frontliners,
more health secretaries, loud and brilliant.
It needs to grow fat and fly
The human spirit will never abandon hope
and in return,
hope will never ever stop
screaming.

89
 Mas mainam na ikaw’y pagod,
Di magkandaugaga, sanib
Ang lugod sa banas sa kapos
Mas Na oras sa sarili, sulit
Ang maghapon o pagpupuyat.
Mainam
ang Pagod ang pinakabansot
Na kalaban, pagtambang
Pagod Ng kahungkaga’y
Humungous.

Fermin Salvador Habang walang laman ang mga daan,

Ang mga tanggapan, ang mga eryang
Pangkomers’yo at industriya
Ang mga iskedyulbuk

90
Halos ay ipagtulakan ka
Na gawin ang mga gawaing
Maaari mong ikamatay.

Walang natutuwa na siya

Ay minamadali, kahit sa
Pakikipagtalik, pag-angkin
Sa ibang kaluluwa
Nais mong ang sarili muna
Ang iyong angkin.

Ganunpaman ay kusang natatalos

Kapag ang panahon ang panawaga’y
Paghangos.

Isolation. Photo by Roberto Miguel A. Lava.

91
 Magsinungaling
sa Sarili
Kung Mag-isa
Bawal lumabas, may veerus.
Joel F. Ariate, Jr.
Mag-isa, wala na akong mapuntahan.
Nasa isang maliit na sulok na lang ako ngayon.
Walang ibang napapansin kundi
ang maliliit pero makukulay kong
kasinungalingan.
Nagsisinungaling ako sa sarili ko
pagkagising na pagkagising.
Sa halip na idilat ang mata, tumagilid,
o bumangon, tinitiis ko na ‘wag kumibo,
nagpapanggap na tulog pa rin.
Minsan nagtatagumpay
ang pagsisinungaling sa sarili
at nakakatulog nga ako ulit.
Tuwing nakapikit—na medyo madalas—
iniimbento ko kung anong oras, araw, o taon na.

92
Nababasag lang ang ilusyon
kapag may nagparamdam na kaibigan online
at nagsabing, “This is the day,
this is the day that the Lord has made,
so let’s make suri the news.”
Nag-iimbento rin ako na may kaibigan.
Nag-iimbento ako ng dialogue.
Ginagawan ko ang sarili
ng thought balloon.
Madalas na ang laman nito:
“Wala akong maisip.”
Dumudungaw ako sa bintana
at nakikita ko ang dagat sa tag-araw.
May nagsabing sa sikolohiya at panitikan,
sinisimbolo ng dagat ang kamatayan.
Natural nagsinungaling ako.
Wala naman talagang dagat.
Sana p’wede ko rin sabihin
na walang kamatayan sa labas.

93
 Ang Ating Tag-init
Joel F. Ariate, Jr.

We look almost happy out in the sun, while we bleed to death from wounds
we know nothing about.
—Tomas Tranströmer, “Streets in Shanghai,” For the Living and the Dead: Poems and a Memoir

Lagi nang mas marupok ang ating laman sa tag-init.

Kaya nga tag-init kung nagpapako tayo sa krus.
Tag-init kung kailan tayo naglulunoy sa dagat
hanggang sa abutan tayo ng maligamgam na dilim,
hanggang sa kusa tayong natutunaw
sa lamlam ng buwang sinisisid
ang mga pagitan ng ating katawan.
Ngayon nag-aalala tayo kung ito na ang huli.
Tirik ang araw at nakakulong tayo
sa ating mga pangitain ng kamatayan.
Mulat ang ating mata sa liwanag
pero nakasindi ang mga kandila ng patay
sa balintataw ng ating mata.

94
Halos hindi natin matingnan
ang asul at ulap lamang na langit.
May kutob tayong hindi ito totoo.
Na sa isang tahimik na saglit,
mababakbak ng kahit pigil nating hininga
ang pintang ito ng purong kalawakan,
parang pinong-pinong asin
na butil sa butil
buong rahang tatangayin
ng lagalag na simoy
ang ating tag-init.
Mabibilad tayo
sa walang katapusang puting liwanag
hanggang sa ang ilan sa atin
mapipilitang ipipikit ang kanilang mata,
tatangayin ng panaginip
ng mga nanariwang berdeng dahong
sinasahod ang unang bugso ng tag-ulan.
Na ngayon di natin tiyak
kung kailan darating
o kung magaganap pa.

95
 Bukas na Bote ng Alkohol ang Aking Katinuan
Joel F. Ariate, Jr.

Tanaw ko na ang talon ng apoy sa gabi

pero hindi ko naintindihan ang sirena
ng bombero sa unang dinig.
Hindi ko alam kung bakit ‘yung sirena
kailangang sabayan ng pagsiklab ng apoy.
Sa katatago sa pandemya, kumitid na ang utak ko.
Hirap na akong pagdugtungin ang mga bagay-bagay.
Ngayong linggo, Miyerkoles ‘yung lahat ng araw.
Hanggang sa napansin kong hindi—noong Sabado na.
Hindi ko na alam at ayaw ko nang alamin
kung gaano pa katagal ang itatagal
ng panahon na ito ng ligalig at lagim.
Magkakasya na lang ako sa mga pagtataka.
Gaya ng:
May nakita ba akong tao ngayon?
Talaga bang tao ang nakita ko?
Talaga bang nakita ko?

96
Sa isang kanto bandang unahan ng isip ko
nandoon si Descartes, kumakaway.
Kinakalikot ng kuwarentena ang aking bungo,
kinakanaw ang hinagap sa kasaysayan,
hinahalo ang panaginip sa totoong buhay.
Sa mga hatinggabing walang tulog,
hinahawi ko ang kurtina sa bintana,
pinipilit kong humanap ng bituin.
Umaasang may buwan paminsan-minsan.
Natatakot akong balang araw
makalimutan ko na kung paano
tumingin sa malayo.
Nasanay na akong walang inaakalang bukas.
Habang nakakulong upang maging ligtas
unti-unting kumakawala ang aking katinuan:
alkohol sa boteng ang takip kinuha na ng takot,
boteng nasa bunganga ng electric fan
na malapit na magliyab sa init.
Ilang guhit bago masaid.
At punyeta, ni hindi ko alam
kung may suplay na ulit nito
sa malapit na tindahan.

97
 Binaril ang dating sundalong
may sakit sa pag-iisip,
hinubog ng digma
sa kinalimutan nang
Paghabol sa pook at panahon.

Balintunay Ninakaw na ng pandemyang ito

ang silbi ng mga makata,
Eric Abalajon ang paghabol sa sunod-sunod
na pagsabog ng mga balintunay
ay lalabas na lamang bilang
dagdag na ingay.

98
 Sapat na ang tikatik sa bubong
at ang nag-uunahang patak,
upang huwag lumabas
at tumingala.

Iniisip mo, ang ulan ngayong gabi

ay luha ng mga bituing
tumagos sa ulap na nakapiring
sa milyong mata ng langit.

Ambo Ngunit para kanino ang pagtangis?

Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado Nakapako ang tingin

sa patay-sinding ilaw sa poste.

Dalawang buwan.

Umaanggi na.

Hindi mo isinasara
ang bintana
at pinto.

99
 Photo by Fitzgerald Abejo.

100
Eyes Hello there, hidden beneath
Bryan Mari Argos Blue layers of linen, I know you
Smile.
Sapped of strength your
Shoulders sag under
Frustrated weight, temple
Hair ruffled, ears ringing to refusals
Of your “please”. “Stay safe”,
Says your beating heart,
Pumping out pain, trapped
At the edges of your blue,
Linen mask, soaking
In sorrow. But nothing
Can hide you from me.
I know you, still
Your eyes
Give away
Your smile.
Hello, bisan gapanago sa idalum
Sang asul nga tela, kilala ko ikaw
Bal-an ko nga naga-ngirit ka;
Bisan ang imo abaga, ginahuy-hoy
Sang kapoy kag kaulaw, bisan
Ang kataka mo sa wala gapamati sa imo,
Naga-ukay sang imo nga tingkoy
Nga indi mo na halos masudlay,
Kag ang sakit sa imo tagipusuon,
Ginasalo sa sid-sid
Sang asul nga maskara
Nga basa na sang kasubo.
Kilala ko ikaw gihapon
Ang imo mata
Nagapanugid
Ngirit.
101
 Meron, meron Imnas
Kansion Sa akin ay sumita.
ni Lakay Indong Dala-dala’y bala,
Riple, at batuta
At kanyang wika
(Maaaring kantahin sa himig ng Iyong quarantine pass
“Leron Leron Sinta”) Dapat mong ilabas
Alagad ako ng batas.
R.B. Abiva
Naku po, Ginoo,
Ako po’y patawarin ninyo
Pagkat hindi ko po
Dala ang hanap ninyo.
Pobre akong tao
Na ang sumamo
Pintig ng aking puso
Ako’y padaanin ninyo.

102
Huwag kang mangatwiran. Iyan, iyan Imnas
Sa panahon ng lockdown Kung bakit ngayong oras,
Kami’y may kapangyarihan Bulalas ng ating tiyan
Na ikaw ay pigilan. Wala tayong bigas.
Ngunit kung mapilit ka Likas bang minamalas
Aba’y nakahanda na Gaya natin sa Pinas
Yaong dalawang bunganga Na kung di ka malakas,
Ng aming masinggan. Ikaw ay mauutas.

Naku po’y kaawa-awa O mahal kong ama,

Ang lagay naming dukha. Hatid nitong corona,
Kami na umaasa Isang paalala:
Sa arawang paggawa. Buklurin ating lakas
Sabi tuloy nila Nang sa isang bigwas
Masa’y lebadura Ang talipandas
Na kung iminasa Gutayin kanyang timyas,
Pandesal ay umaalsa. Patayin kanyang katas.

103
 Last Will, Testament, and Endorsements
Wilfredo Liangco

For the past few days I’ve been waking up with some mild, constricting chest pain, and
whereas before I would automatically assume “THYMIC CARCINOMA!”, it is now
the virus that instantly comes to mind. Someone in the house would cough with a curt
“Ehem!” and I would quickly switch from tambay mode to a med student doing a complete
PQRST history. After weeks of being a total loon constantly monitoring updates among
the many, many Viber groups, I have now learned to limit the frequency with which I
would check them—which I discovered to be correlated with the severity of any of my
imagined symptoms. And besides, many of these infuriating Viber groups I don’t even
know why I keep. Most of these are hospitals or groups I am no longer affiliated with, but
I guess I just don’t want the spectacle of “WILL HAS LEFT THE GROUP”. Frankly
nobody will really care if I leave, but perhaps years of medical training has hammered in us
the sense of presentee-ism or at least the pretense of such.

While in a bus in Tokyo two years ago, my fellowship batchmate Cordelia and I were
discussing the problems that would come with suddenly dropping dead alone. How do
you hand off your vital documents to your nearest relatives? How do you deal with the
taxes? Most importantly, how do you make sure that you don’t turn into nitrogenous
liquefied gunk that would seep through bedroom walls and attract all kinds of vermin
before somebody is even notified that you’re dead? Cordelia has apparently been thinking
of a one-touch red-button phone app that you could frantically click before you die, which
would automatically endorse your last will and testament to your loved ones/lawyer, and

104
your patients’ case records to your preferred physicians. Whenever Cordelia and I see
each other we always talk about the inconveniences of death, and we always end up not
really depressed, but stressed. Death is still, apparently, work.

For now while this app is still in the research and development stages, I’ve started
drafting my own last will, testament, and endorsements. Whenever I file a leave for a
one-week vacation, writing down a detailed endorsement of my patients already causes
extreme anxiety- what more if I’m preparing for death. Although COVID would
probably not kill me in an instant like an aneurysm, it would be difficult to write all of
these properly while I’m in the ICU isolation room and intubated. I wouldn’t want to
trouble the overworked staff asking for a pen or a graphing paper, which would add to
the fomite that will require disinfection.

In one of my more morbid and fatalistic Messenger groups we were discussing whether
we prefer observing data privacy versus circulating an all-out novella complete with
photos and screencaps of final conversations should we kick the bucket. I said they
have my permission to tell everyone the entire saga of my death, and they could even
include a photo as long as I look fantastic in it garbed in full travel regalia--none of
those cropped group pictures while in a hospital conference luncheon, please. I guess
talking about our own deaths so casually at a time when it could really happen is now an
acceptable defense mechanism against this crippling collective anxiety.

105

Ili-ili Lolo
Bryan Mari Argos
Ili-ili Lolo, indi magkabalaka.
Ari lang kami sa pihak nga eskinita.
Pahuway kag magpadayon ginhawa
Kay amon lanugon ang langit sang pag-amba,
Pangamuyo nga hugot sa tanan nga santo kag santa
Nga liwan mo mabuklat ang imo mga mata
Kag tanan kita liwan magkililita.
106
Bisan subong ang amon kada nga pag-amba
Lubong sang bugong sang mga makina,
Nga nakatakod sa imo ilong, dughan kag baba
Agud magpagrus ang imo pin-ot nga pagginhawa.
Indi namon subong mahimo magbisita.
Bisan ang amon kasingkasing labing gapaluya,
Nagasinggit sang sukol nga makita imo guya.
Lolo, pahuway ka, apang indi pagtayuyuna.
Nagahulat kami tanan sang imo pagbutwa
Gikan sa kalumsan sang hangin kag hunahuna
Gikan sa hamuok kun diin napreso ka
Ili-ili Lolo, bugtaw na sa pagkahupa.
Bugtaw, bangon, indi magpaluya,
Indi magpapirdi, indi magpatumba.
Ili-ili Lolo
Bryan Mari Argos
Ili-ili Lolo, huwag kang mag-alala.
Nandito lang kami sa kabilang eskinita.
Magpahinga, ituloy ang iyong paghinga
At aming guguluhin ang langit sa pagkanta,
Pagdasal nang taimtim sa lahat ng santo’t santa
Na muli mong mabuksan ang iyong mga mata
At tayong lahat ay muling magkita-kita.
Kahit ngayon, ang aming bawat pagkanta
Libing sa tunog ng mga makina
Na sa ilong, dibdib, at bibig nakatrangka
Upang sumigla ang iyong paghinga.
Ang pagdalaw sa iyo ay di namin magawa.
Kaya’t ang damdamin namin ay labis na nanghihina,
Sumisigaw, umaasang masilayan ang ‘yong mukha.
Magpahinga, Lolo, ngunit wag tuluyan ang pahinga.
Naghihintay kaming lahat sa iyong pagbutwa.
Mula sa pagkalunod sa hangin at haraya.
Ili-ili, Lolo, sa bangungot gumising na.
Gising, bangon, at huwag manghina,
Huwag magpatalo, at huwag magpatumba.
107
108
Hingalo

109
 Dasal ang katapat kung kinakatay tayo
ng hilakbot nang biglaang pagdating ng kamatayan.
Maangas at marahas ang pagsaksak ng mga
Oratio Imperata koronang tinik
sa ating mga ulo. Gulantang tayo sa sakunang
Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. umusbong
sa dibdib na punyal na lumalaslas din sa leeg
ng bawat kakilala, kaibigan, o angkan.
Mga tuod tayo sa pagkitil ng nakahilera’t
napupugtong hininga.
Di ito ang unang pagpuksa’t pananalanta.
Nanagana’t lumipol na
ang SARS, Influenza H1N1, at MERS-COV
sa Amerika’t Tsina
pati sa Bataan,
Cavite,
Maynila,
Leyte,
Cebu,
Bohol,
Zamboanga.

110
Pinalusog ang pagpuksa ng mga demonyong ito
maging ang mga nakaraang digmaan at paniniil.
Tumilapon sa guniguni ang pagpatahimik
sa mga mata, ilong, bibig.
Walang lamay sa namatay o beso-beso o pakikipagkamay,
walang titik sa lapida o lapida sa nitso
kundi pagsunog sa bangkay para di kumalat ang pandemya.
Hapdi ito ng kalingkingan, bugbog ang buong katawan
pero kung makakaligtas, bubuksan ang mga bintana,
papalakpak tayo sa pagsapit ng ika-lima ng hapon
kung dumaraan ang mga naka-lab gown
dahil natagpuan ang bakuna na nananahan
sa bawat katawan, sa bawat kaluluwa.
Saka tayo luluhod
sa pagdarasal ng Oratio Imperata,
ng maraming Oratio Imperata.

111
 Unang araw daw ng GCQ
Saad sa garalgal nilang radyo
Kaya tumanghod ang bata sa bintana
Sa may harap-bahay.
Inaaninaw niya, pinag-aaralan,
Ang mga tao’t behikulong
Nagdaraanan. Mistulang mga ninja
O assassin sa pelikula.
Nakatalukbong ang kalahati
New Normal Na mukha. At parang mga langgam:
‘Sang segundong magbabatian,
Dexter Reyes At kagyat ding kakaripas. Na parang
May pinandidirihan.
At tila bigla siyang nakadama
Ng pagkagitla nang magkumpol-
Kumpol ang mga kaninang magkakalayo-
Layo. May nangingisay. Sinagasaan ng humaharurot
Na motor ng assassin. May sumisigaw,
Tumatawag ang hiyaw
Ng saklolo. Nagsilapitan ang mga tao.

112
‘Sang hukbo ng mga langgam,
Magkakadikit-dikit, naghubad ng maskara.
Nagtanungan kung may nakatatanda
Sa nabasag na mukha. At sabay-
Sabay na nagngalisag
Ang balahibo ng bata.

Pagbabago. Photo by Karen Angela Hernandez

113
 Binagabag ako ng bawat sulok,
gilid, dingding, haligi, lapag, papag
ng aming bahay.

Sa sala, madalas buhay ang telebisyon,

libo-libong patay ang balita. Sa gabi,
Sa Pitumpu’t mapapanood ang palabas ng pangulo.
Mapupuyat sa ngitngit at galit, manggagalaiti
Walong Araw sa mga pabaya’t ganid.
Sofia Angela Federico
Sa kusina, madalas hain ang gulay at prutas.
Subalit, tanging natitikma’y
pait ng mga maralitang dinahas
nang manawagan ng bigas.
Nakakapaso ang bawat subo,
nakakabulon ang bawat lunok.

114
Sa kuwarto, madalas bagong-palit ang kobre-kama.
Ngunit, ang paghiga ay parusa,
walang himbing sa dampi ng kumot.
Paglingon sa kisame, tatambad ang imahen
ng mga naiwan sa kalsada, ng nagsisiksikan
sa mga barong-barong,
ng mga hindi makauwi, ng mga nasawi.

Ang mga bagabag

nag-aaklas mula sa loob,
nagpupumilit lumabas
sa mga bintana, sa pintuan.
Kakawala rin ang mga ito.

115
 Kalinga. Photo by Johann Paola P. Cortez.

116
Kalatas Pagkatapos ng
Ganap sa Sitio Roque
R.B. Abiva

Inutos ng palasyo
Na barilin ang sino
Mang kuno’y manggugulo
Na gaya ni Macario
Ngunit di napagtanto
Na ang gutom na tao
Pukulin mo ng bato
O pilit ibilanggo
Sa taong inabuso
Daig nito ang aso
Kung sagad na sa buto
Tiyak walang mga santo
Pipigil o tatalo
Sa bagsik ng labuyo.

117
 Utos
Uutos, Umuutos, Iniutos.

Takot
Matatakot, Natatakot, Natakot.

Tahol
Tatahol, Tumatahol, Tumahol.

Bantay
Magbabantay, Nagbabantay, Nagbantay.

Aksiyon Bakuna
Babakunahan, Binabakunahan, Binakunahan.
Orland Agustin Solis
Dura
Duduraan, Dinuduraan, Dinuraan.

Bulyaw
Bubulyawan, Binubulyawan, Binulyawan.

Sunod
Susunod, Sumusunod, Sinunod.

Laban
Lalaban, Lumalaban, Nanlaban.

118
Busal
Bubusalan, Binubusalan, Binusalan.

Pabaya
Magpapabaya, Nagpapabaya, Pinabayaan.

Duwag
Maduduwag, Naduduwag, Naduwag.

Lunas
Lulunasan, Nilulunasan…

Gamot
Gagamotin, Ginagamot…

Takbo
Tatakbo, tumatakbo…

Taksil
Magtataksil, Nagtataksil,
Patuloy at patuloy na pagtataksilan ang taong-bayan.

Ikaw?
Ano ang iyong aksiyong kagigiliwan?

119
 Ang Bagong Ngayon, sa mga group chat,
hinubad na ng tsismis
Kamatayan ang maharot nitong balatkayo.
Lahat ahente na ng punerarya.
Joel F. Ariate Jr. “Alam n’yo bang may namatay sa . . .”
At sa sagot, at sa sagot sa sagot,
tumutulay ang ating pagkatakot at pag-aalala.
At natural may gagong hihirit
ng kung anong nakakatawang kagaguhan
na tutumpukan ng mga kausap
ng tumatawang emoji.
Pero kapag binawi na ang katinuan sa chat
doon lamang walang pasintabing babaon
sa isip ang katotohanang bawat isa sa atin
napapaligiran na ng kamatayan.
Lagi namang ganito ang sitwasyon,
pero ngayon lang natin ininda.
Dati, pinapayagan lang natin
na tumabi sa atin ang kamatayan
sa mga biglaang pagkagising sa madaling-araw.

120
Dati, naipagdarasal ang pangamba sa pasiyam.
Dati, tinatanghal lamang ang kamatayan
tuwing Biyernes Santo at Todos los Santos.
Ang iba nangailangan pa ng bungong pananda
maalala lang ang mortalidad.
Tapos na ang panahong iyon.
Narito na tayo ngayon
sa isang malawakang lamay
na hindi natatapos
ng pautay-utay na paglilibing.
Sa halip na alulong ng aso,
ang panggabing balita
ang nagdadala sa atin
ng mga di maisantabing signos.
Hindi natin makita ang kamatayan
pero tumatagos sa malay natin at gunita
ang mga pagkawala.
At ni wala tayong saklang matayaan
para man lang may maiabot na butaw
sa mga naiwan ng mga nawala.

121
 Ilang buwan na ding ginagambala
Ng paulit-ulit na hingal-ubo-hingal.
At ilan na din ang nakapuna
Sa biglaang pagbagsak ng pangangatawan.

Ilang buwan na ding iniinda ko

Ang sakit sa baywang na tagos hanggang buto.
At pag minalas ay dadalaw pa ang pananakit ng ulo
Sabayan pa ng pagsusuka at pagkahilo.

At kung hindi pa sapat ang pasaning dala-dala

Ano naman itong sinasabing bagong pandemya?
Sakit na tila ba ang baga ang puntirya
Paano na ang tulad kong may kanser daw sa baga?

Huling Hininga Dumating nga ang araw na aking kinatatakutan,

Kenneth G. Samala Na kailangang madala at magamot sa ospital
Pero may alinlangan sapagkat ako’y hinihingal
Mapagkamalan kayang bagong kaso at mapasama sa bilang?

Pilit tiniis ang hirap na aking nadarama,

Piniling manatili sa bahay at di na lumabas pa.
Dahil sa pandemya’y bigla na lang naluha.
Di pa man patay, tila’y nilagutan na ng hininga.

122

Aquarium
Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado
Xi assures Duterte: PH gets ‘priority’
access once China develops vaccine
- global.inquirer.net, 13 June 2020
Sa loob ng bilog mong mundo,
nabubunggo ang iyong ulo
sa paulit-ulit na paglangoy,
subalit di ka humihinto.
Naghihintay ka lang
na may makapansing
isang kamay
na dadampot sa iyo
mula sa loob, mangangakong
pakakawalan ka sa dagat,
gayong bibitiwan ka lang pala
sa mas malawak
na salaming ataol.
123
 Sa Hanging Itinanghal ng TV, radyo, at social media
ang pagpapakilala ng bagong hari ng virus
Di Siya sa ating makitid at huklubang lungsod.
Mersenaryong itong madalas na sumasalakay
ang Lumikha hindi lang sa entresuwelo kundi senado,
tindahan, mol, at ospital ng buong mundo.
Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. Siya ang sayaw ng laway at ubo
o kaya, lamyerda ng sipon at bahing.
Kaya, kailangang litsunin
ang t-shirt, pantalon, sapatos, pati panti at brip,
sanggain ng maskara ang lumalason sa hininga,
makipagtunggali ang sabon o alkohol
sa mantsang kumulapol sa kamay, damit at ugali,
tusukin ng heringgilya ang bawat kamangmangan,
h’wag lang sumangsang ang katawan
habang tinatalunton nito ang lansangang papuntang bayan,
At kung laganap na ang pagduro ng sakit,
hayaang ang nakukurtang dugo
ang maglangis, malusaw, sumabog
upang bagong plasma ang lumunod sa virus

124
 No, not because their tails
Of plastic sando bags
Are too short

No, not because their wings

Of calendar pages
Are missing dates

No, not even because their spine

Of broom-sticks
Are fractured or dislocated

Why Kites Fall Kites fall in this time of quarantine,

Because the ceiling is no sky,
Jhio Jan A. Navarro
Because the wind from the electric fan
Was never meant to make them fly.

125
 Ayuda
Paul Alcoseba Castillo

Nabigtas sa bigat ang bigay na supot.

Sa halip na bigas at lata, tatakalin
ng kanilang mga kamay at pagtataka
ang nagkalat na basyo ng balang tumalab
sa mga nang-abala sa kalsada. Dala
ang mga dasal at gunita ng gutom
sa mga buwan na lumipas lang sa paslit
na pati lapis ay ipagpapalit
para may makakanin bukod sa nakahaing
hinaing at hangin.

126
Imbak. Photo by Joshua A. Castor.

127
 Pútong
(pasintabi kay
Domeng Landicho)
Dakila Cutab Distansya at Ayuda. Photo by Roberto Miguel A. Lava.

‘Shoot them dead’ Babalang bala lang ang putak na balak

~ Philippine leader Na sa ating bayang nahatid sa lusak.
says won’t tolerate May serbisyong dakdak—may ayudang latak,
lockdown violators Dahil sa pulburang ‘pinutong sa utak.
(Reuters,
April Fools 2020)

128
Mga Gamugamo
Kristoffer Aaron G. Tiña

Kung hindi ako makalabas

para sa aking kaarawan
o kaya ay para sa protesta,
binubuksan ko lamang
ang aking bintana
para sa mga gamugamo.
Magtitipon sila sa aming ilaw.
Maitatawid ang pagdiriwang,
madarama ko ang pakikibaka,
kahit sa pagsapit ng umaga
winawalis na ng aking ina
ang mga kawawang bisita.

129
 Apat na Diona
para sa Nasira
Dexter Reyes Mistulang tinga’t upos
Na tinangay ng agos
Ng sistemang busabos.

Dumanak ang sigalot,

Nadamay ka sa poot,
Nabitag ka sa sapot.

Ngayon may dalamhati

Ang sambayanang hati,
At walang luwalhati.

Hustisyang sintunado,
Sistemang tin’rantado,
Ikaw ang diputado.

130
 Pinayaman ng mga bangkay ang lupa kaya hitik ang mga halamang
Abo pumapalibot sa matandang bahay. Naging abono ang mga nabulok na
labí ng mga sumalangit na áso. Kasama ng mga nanlagas na sanga
Eileen Villegas at dahon, gumulang na bunga at mga likhâng likás na lumipas sa lupà.
Ikinalulugod noon ang pagpapabulok nang banayad hanggang sa
maabot ang sukdulan ng pagyabong ng mga ugat at bulaklak. Hinahayaan
din ang bukal na paglipas ng tao kapag siya ang yumao—ngunit ilang taon
nang patay ang matandang kaugalian ng paglilibing. Ngayon,
mandato na ng pagpapaabo. Matagal nang ipinatupad ang pagsunog
sa mga bagong sawi, noon pang magsimula ang pagkalat sa hindi
inaasahang biglaang kamatayan, sa paglaganap ng malawakang pinsala
ng pagkabalisa ng mga tao. Upang maibsan ang ligalig, ang lunas ay
ang agarang pagtupok sa bangkay ng mga nahawa. Napilitang ikalugod
ng lahat ang daglîng pagbalik sa putik na pinagmulan, dahil ang abo rin
ang katapusan. Pinanatiling mayaman ang lupa at lalong naging hitik naman
ang halaman sa sanlibutan, patuloy na nadaragdagan ng mga bagong bubot
bilang lugód sa nagmistulang ningas at sa kumakapal na sumalangit na asó.

131
 Itong Kalungkutan. Photo by Jaho Rojo.

132
Backline Mainit ang magiging pagsalubong sa iyong
matagumpay na paglabas. Mauuwi
Paul Alcoseba Castillo
kang nakasilid nang pahalang mula
ulo hanggang paa. Takot na

mabuksan ang kawalang-tiwala.

Pero makikilala ka sa pangalan

ng kumitil sa iyo, karamdaman

sa listahang isa-isang daraanan

ng hintuturo ng susundo pagkabalik

na pagkabalik mo sa abo.

133
 Hindi ko naintindihan noon
ang pagluluksa ng mga sinawimpalad
Uslî sa gitna ng pagpapalaganap ng pagwawalay
Eileen Villegas ng daigdig. Nang ipabatid ang aking pakikiramay,
nagsambit ka ng pasasalamat at biglang hindi
ko nakilala sa tinig ng iyong pagdadalamhati. Maláy ako
sa panahon ng pag-iisa, sa pamamanglaw
ng lahat ng nawalan habang balasik ang pagkalat
ng pagwawakas—walang magawa kundi
tanganan ang panalangin: pampatighaw ng damdaming
abuhin. Hawak ko ang sariling hapis: wala akong kamay
na maiabot sa iyo ngunit nandito ako sa isang gunita,
tinutuklap ang ilang panimdim na nakausling
balat sa gilid ng daliri, humahapdi kahit sa magaan
na pagsagi, at nagbabadiyang pinsala kung tatangkaing
hilahin. Kinakagat-kagat na lamang ang nakausling

134
mala-tinik upang maibsan ang inip sa di-agarang
paghilom. Tulad ng lumilitaw-litaw
na kalungkutan, likas na paghihilumin ng oras
ang sarili nitong sugat. Nais ko sanang maapuhap
ang iyong kasawian, kaibigan, ngunit hindi
magkawangis ang ating dalamhati—dagli ang pagkirot
kapag sariwa ang sugat, walang dalawang sakit
ang magkapantay, sadiyang laksa-laksa
ang lunggati ng lumbay. Walang
katuparan kung ang hinihiling ay paglimot, marahil
hindi pagwawaksi ang hinihingi ng kalungkutan,
bagkus, pagpapalaya. Sa susunod na pagdaupin
ang mga palad, idalangin natin
ang pagbitaw at hayaang ang balat mismo
ang pumawi ng hapdi sa mga nawalay
nang bahagi.

Para kay Mariz

135
 Kahit Di Pa Ako ang pasahero sa iika-ikang bus na ito
Habang binabaybay ang liko-liko’t bako-bakong kalsada.
Huli ang Lahat Dadaan ako sa sunog na burol, aakyat sa kalbong bundok,
Lalagos sa patay na kuweba’t tatambay sa pamahalaang bayan,
Honesto M. Pesimo Jr. Hihimpil sa hininga ng politiko, praning, o siraulo,
Maglulunoy sa ATM ng CEO o empleyado,
Pupunta sa panaderya, uupo sa pandesal at tasty bread,
Mambubulabog pati sa kondo’t barong-barong
At maglalambitin sa kisame, mananahan sa dingding at sahig.
Gusto kong masaksihan ninyo ang aking paglalakbay
Sa digmaan ng inyong dungis at tigas ng ulo.
Di ako sasama sa rosas na itatapon ninyo sa ibabaw ng kabaong.
Di rin ako lilipad kasama ang puting lobo.
Doon ako sa mga kinakabog at binubulabog ng pangungulila
Para sa panibagong pag-iistambay sa mga tolda’t ICUs
O sa nakahilerang apartment o musoleo.
Doon ako sa pampalakas-loob na amoy-sementong nitso
Di ko na pag-aaksayahan ng panahon ang pagbisita sa simbahan
Dahil walang itinutulos na kandila
Kahit di pa naman huli ang lahat,
Kahit di pa huli ang lahat.

136
Oblivion. Photo by Victor John C. Ergina.

137
 Sumpa ang nakahahawang sakit
Sumpa ang sakit na tuberkulosis
Body Politic Sumpa ang sakit na sipilis
Sumpa ang sakit na kanser
Mark Angeles Sumpa ang sakit na HIV
Sumpa ang pagsambit ng salita
Sumpa ang nakahahawang salita
Sumpa ang nakamamatay na salita
Sumpa ang salitang ‘tuberkulosis’
Sumpa ang salitang ‘sipilis’
Sumpa ang salitang ‘kanser’
Sumpa ang salitang ‘HIV’
Sumpa ang imoralidad
Sumpa ang maruming dugo
Sumpa ang lahing nagkakalat ng sakit
Sumpa ang tagapagdala ng salot
Sumpa ang tagapagdala ng epidemya
Sumpa ang tagapagdala ng pandemya
Sumpa ang balitang COVID
Sumpa ang bali-balitang COVID
Sumpa ang salitang ‘COVID’
Sumpa ang prognosis
Sumpa ang diyagnosis
Sumpa ang underdiyagnosis

138
Sumpa ang misdiyagnosis
Sumpa ang hangin ng barong-barong
Sumpa ang hangin ng dampa
Sumpa ang hangin ng lungsod
Sumpa ang lungsod
Sumpa ang walang mass testing
Sumpa ang balik-probinsiyang
walang mass testing
Sumpa ang magkalat ng sakit
Sumpa ang magkalat ng
kamangmangan
Sumpa ang mga pasaway
Sumpa ang sumuway sa rehimen
Sumpa ang pagtitipon ng taumbayan
Sumpa ang pagtutol ng taumbayan
Sumpa ang pagsuplong ng taumbayan
Sumpa ang ireklamo ang pulis
Sumpa ang ireklamo ang militar
Sumpa ang ireklamo ang opisyal
Sumpa ang ireklamo ang tsekwa
Sumpa ang ireklamo ang batas
Sumpa ang mamuno ang kawatan
Sumpa ang mga sakit ng lipunan
Sumpa ang mga salot ng lipunan
noon, ngayon, at kailanman.

139
140
Mga Kontribyutor
Eric Abalajon
Eric is a lecturer at the Division of Humanities,
College of Arts and Sciences, UP Visayas -
Miagao. His e-zine of short fiction, Mga Migranteng
Sandali, is distributed by Kasingkasing Press.
Fitzgerald Abejo
Fitzgerald is a member of the UP Photographers’
Society at UP Los Baños.
R.B. Abiva
Si RBA ay manunula(t) sa wikang Iloko at
Filipino. Writing Fellow siya ng 58th UP National
Writers Workshop, 11th Palihang Rogelio Sicat,
6th Cordillera Creative Writing Workshop, at 9th
Pasnaan- Jeremias A. Calixto Ilokano Writers
Workshop. Inisyatiba niya ang Solidagro, Anto Sa
Yugto Ng Pandemiko (Samahang Lazaro Francisco
E-Book, 2020).
Cesar G. Aljama
An architect who graduated from UP Diliman,
Cesar is also a heritage conservationist, craftsman,
and artist. He was a fellow of the UP National
Writers Workshop and the Silliman National
Writers Workshop. As a writer, he has garnered
several awards, including the Grand Prize of the
National Board on Books for Young Children and
the Palanca Award for Essay in Filipino.
Mark Angeles
Si Mark ay nagtapos ng MA Filipino: Malikhaing
Pagsulat sa UP Diliman. Fellow siya sa Tula ng
53rd UP National Writers Workshop na ginanap sa
Baguio noong 2014.
Jasmine Arcilla
Jasmine graduated from the UP College of
Medicine in 2018. She is currently serving as a
Doctor to the Barrio.
141
 Bryan Mari Argos
Bryan is an alumnus of the UP Open University
where he completed both his Master’s in
Development Communication and Doctor of
Communication. He was born and raised in Capiz,
and he is currently the City Tourism Officer of
Roxas City. His literary works have been recognized
by the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for
Literature and the Komisyon na Wikang Filipino.
Joel F. Ariate, Jr.
Si Joel ay university researcher sa Third World
Studies Center, College of Social Sciences and
Philosophy, University of the Philippines Diliman
at managing editor ng Kasarinlan: Philippine Journal of
Third World Studies. Nag-aral siya ng Kasaysayan sa
parehong unibersidad.
Mark Joseph Z. Arisgado
Si Mark ay kasalukuyang nag-aaral ng abogasiya
sa UP College of Law. Nagtapos siya ng BS
Economics (Oblation scholar at magna cum laude)
at Master in Development Economics mula sa UP
School of Economics. Mula siya sa Batch Kilapsaw
ng Linangan sa Imahen, Retorika, at Anyo (LIRA).
142
Kristoffer B. Berse
Si Kristoffer Berse ay kasalukuyang Associate
Professor sa UP-National College of Public
Administration and Governance at Director for
Research and Creative Work ng UP Resilience
Institute. Mula 1998, nailathala na ang kanyang
mga tula sa ilang antolohiya, magasin, diyaryo at
website sa loob at labas ng Pilipinas.
Paul Alcoseba Castillo
Si Paul ay nagtuturo ng Panitikan at
Humanidades sa Unibersidad ng Santo Tomas at
kasalukuyang kumukuha ng PhD in Literature
sa Gradwadong Paaralan nito. Kinilala ang mga
tula niya sa Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for
Literature at Maningning Miclat Poetry Awards.
Naging fellow siya sa ika-58 UP National
Writers Workshop at kasapi ng Linangan sa
Imahen, Retorika, at Anyo (LIRA).
Ivan Joshua A. Castor
Ivan is a veterinary medicine student who’s
interested in street photography and is a
member of the UP Photographers’ Society at
UP Los Baños.
Jeremy Cordero
Jeremy was born in Manila, studied in Manila
(University of the Philippines and the Philippine
General Hospital), and is currently haunted by Manila.
He works as an emergency medicine consultant in
several medical institutions and has provided expert
advise to the Philippine Red Cross and in various
technical working groups in Congress and TESDA.
Johann Paola P. Cortez
JJohan Paola is a computer sciences student who’s
passionate about photography and a member of the UP
Photographers’ Society at UP Los Baños.
Dakila Cutab
Student Number 19xx-xx007. Dakila is now married to
his ex-girlfriend from UP Baguio.
Victor John C. Ergina
VJ is a hobbyist, freelance photographer, and
videographer. He is interested in learning more about
product photography and portrait photography, and is
a member of the UP Photographers’ Society at UP Los
Baños.
Sofia Angela Federico
Si Pia, 21 taong gulang, ay nagtapos ng kursong
Chemistry mula sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas
Diliman noong 2019. Siya ay naging patnugot
ng Scientia, opisyal na pahayagang pang-mag-
aaral ng Kolehiyo ng Agham. Siya ay kabahagi
ng Center for Environmental Concerns -
Philippines, isang makakalikasang organisasyon.
Ralph Fonte
Makata, manggagamot, at manlalakbay si Ralph.
Ilang ulit na siyang naparangalan alang-alang
sa kaniyang mga tula—dalawang ulit siyang
nagwagi ng gantimpala sa Gawad Maningning
Miclat, nakaisang ulit naman sa Gawad Palanca,
at pinutungan bilang kauna-unahang Tanghal-
Makata ng Taon sa Performatura Literary
Festival. Naglilingkod siya ngayon bilang doktor.
Karen Angela Hernandez
Karen is a BS Forestry student who’s interested in
events/concert and landscape photography. She
was instrumental in having the UP Photographers’
Society at UP Los Baños, of which she is a
member, contribute greatly to this book.
143
 Ferdinand Pisigan Jarin
Ferdinand is a Professor in the Division of
Humanities, UP Visayas - Miag-ao Campus. He has
published several children’s books and won three
Carlos Palanca awards. He was a scriptwriter for the
now defunct children’s show, Batibot. In 2014, his
work, Anim na Sabado ng Beyblade at iba pang Sanaysay,
won the National Book Award for Nonfiction in
Filipino from the Manila Critics Circle.
Roberto Miguel A. Lava
Roberto Miguel is a BS Chemistry student who’s
interested in the fields of robotics and photography.
He is a member of the UP Photographers’ Society
at UP Los Baños.
Ronald Law
Ronald is a poet and physician, a public health
specialist in emergency and disaster management
working for the Department of Health and part of
the team battling COVID-19. He is currently also
an adjunct faculty of the Department of Health
Policy and Administration, College of Public
Health, UP Manila. He was formerly an Australian
Leadership Fellow and a US-ASEAN Fulbright
Visiting Scholar.
144
Wilfredo Liangco
Will graduated from the UP College of Medicine in
2006. He subsequently had his Internal Medicine
residency as well as Medical Oncology fellowship at
PGH. He has written essays and short stories which
have appeared in various national dailies and magazines.
Hansel B. Mapayo
Br. Hansel was a writing fellow at the 20th and 28th
UP National Writers Workshop (1992 and 1996) and the
3rd Iligan Writers Workshop and Literature Conference
(1997). He is the author of Prayer Seasons (Poems and
Paintings), Aria Edition, 2011. He is on a sabbatical from
the Society of St. Paul congregation to write a book
on the Bible and paint a series on Mangroves in the
Philippines.
Ma. Jhayle Ann Marie Z. Meer
Jhayle holds a bachelor’s degree in Film and is currently
pursuing a master’s degree in Creative Writing at UP
Diliman. In her textual and audio-visual works, she
writes about her personal experiences. The themes
of her writing are women, children, families, and life
events. She also writes about shelved memories and
fading dreams, employing sparse and simple language
in her works.
Glenn Tek-ing Muñez
Glenn hails from Cebu and is expected to
finish his master’s degree in Development
Communication at the UP Open University by
2021. He was a fellow for poetry at the 2010 UP
Cebu Mugna Creative Writing Workshop.
Jhio Jan A. Navarro
Jhio is a third year BA in Psychology student
at the UP Visayas in Miagao. His poems have
been published in Bulatlat, Revolt Magazine, the
Hong Kong-based Voice and Verse Magazine, and
the Philippines Graphic. His poems mostly draw
inspiration from human rights violations in the
country under the Duterte regime.
Jose Velando Ogatis-I
Joey is currently a faculty member of the
Department of Arts and Communication of
UP Manila. He is the founder of the cultural
organization, UP Manila Belle, a group that
supports women in the performing arts. A
collector of comics and toys, Jose is a big Gilas
Pilipinas fan. He looks forward to the day when
the Arts are given their proper place and respect
in UP Manila.
Hannah Melizza A. Paguila
Hannah is presently a Program Producer/Anchor/
Writer II for DZUP 1602, the official radio station
of UP Diliman. She is a graduate of BA Broadcast
Communication in UP Diliman and was a member of
the editorial board of Tinig ng Plaridel, the UP College
of Mass Communication’s student publication.
Jahjiel Pajutan
Jahjiel is a research analyst and a part-time freelance
product and events photographer, and is a member of
the UP Photographer’s Society at UP Los Baños.
Lourdes Dominique R. Panganiban
Lourdes is an amateur writer and a freshman in BS
Agriculture at UP Los Baños.
Honesto M. Pesimo Jr.
Fellow si Jun ng 36th National UP Writers Workshop.
Nakasama ang kanyang mga akda sa ANI 37, 39, at 40.
Inilathala ng National Commission for Culture and
the Arts ang kanyang unang aklat ng mga tula, ang
Bag yo sa Oktubre. Sa kasalukuyan, siya ang superbisor sa
English ng Departamento ng Edukasyon sa Lungsod
ng Naga.
145
 Elvie Victonette B. Razon-Gonzalez
Elvie is a gastroenterologist and epidemiologist
residing in Iloilo City. She finished her Internal
Medicine residency and Gastroenterology
fellowship in PGH. She is presently completing
her thesis in MSc Clinical Epidemiology with
the Department of Clinical Epidemiology.
She is a wife and mother of four children. She
loves to read books, write poetry and analyze
statistical data to unwind.
Danton Remoto
Danton obtained his PhD in English Studies
with a major in Creative Writing from UP
Diliman. His novel, Riverrun, will be published
by Penguin Books this year. It has been chosen
as “one of the five most anticipated books by
an Asian author in the year 2020.” Professor
Remoto is the Head of School at the University
of Nottingham in Malaysia, where he teaches
Creative Writing and Literature.
Dexter Reyes
Si Dexter ay mula sa bayan ng General Mariano
Alvarez, Cavite. Kasalukuyan siyang kumukuha
ng kursong BA Philippine Studies sa UP
Diliman.
146
Jaho Rojo
Jaho works as a photographer for a local congresswoman.
He is a member of the UP Photographers’ Society at UP Los
Baños.
Fermin Salvador
Fermin is a certified Habilitation Program Coordinator in
Illinois, USA. He is a regular columnist since 2009 in the
Chicagoland-based magazine, Fil-Am MegaScene. He was
chosen in 1987 to become one of the writing fellows in
the UP Creative Writing Center (now Institute) National
Summer Writers Workshop.
Kenneth G. Samala
Kenneth completed his pre-med course (BS Public Health),
medicine, residency (Internal Medicine), fellowship
(Medical Oncology) and masters (Clinical Medicine-
Medical Oncology) at UP Manila and PGH. He is currently
practicing as an oncologist in Manila and Cavite.
Alvina Pauline D. Santiago
Pauline is a graduate of the UP College of Medicine, Class
1990. She is a practicing pediatric ophthalmologist and
strabismus (eye movement disorders) specialist. Currently,
she is a Clinical Associate Professor of the UPCM, and is
the Division Chief of Pediatric Ophthalmology of the PGH
Department of Ophthalmology and Visual Sciences.
Cheeno Marlo Sayuno
Cheeno is an Assistant Professor at the Department
of Humanities, UP Los Baños. He is also a PhD
candidate at the UP College of Mass Communication.
He was a fellow of the UP National Writers
Workshop in 2016 and has already received awards
from the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for
Literature and the PBBY Salanga Prize. He has
published several children’s storybooks.
Orland Agustin Solis
Orland is a third year Bachelor of Arts in Literature
student from the UP Visayas. He is currently the
Literary Editor of Pagbutlak, the official student
publication of the College of Arts and Sciences.
Victor N. Sugbo
Victor is a poet who lives in Tacloban. He writes
poetry in Waray and English. He is currently a
lecturer at the UP Visayas Tacloban, where he retired
as a full professor in Communication in 2014. He
holds a Ph.D. in Communication from the UP
College of Mass Communication, has written articles
in academic journals, and has a forthcoming book of
poetry, Poems from Ground Z.
Jose Monfred C. Sy
Si Mon Sy ay nagtuturo kasama ng Departamento
ng Filipino at Panitikan ng Pilipinas sa Unibersidad
ng Pilipinas Diliman. Nakatanggap siya ng
Bachelor of Arts (Comparative Literature), summa
cum laude, mula sa parehong pamantasan. Isa rin
siyang manunulat ng aklat pambata at guro para sa
kabataang Lumad ng Bakwit School sa ilalim ng
Save Our Schools Network.
Genesy Rivas Timonera
Genesy is a graduate of BA Communication Arts
from UP Visayas. She is a holder of Juris Doctor
degree, a published author, and a volunteer-advocate
for various service-oriented organizations.
Kristoffer Aaron G. Tiña
Kristoffer took BA Communication Arts in UP Los
Baños, and he is currently finishing his Master’s
in Communication Arts. He taught language and
literature subjects in Pamantasan ng Cabuyao and
Colegio de Los Baños. He attended the first Amelia
Lapeña-Bonifacio Writers’ Workshop on speculative
fiction held in UP Diliman. He has works published
in Youngblood and Kasingkasing Press.
147
 Lisa S. Traboco
Lisa is an internist and a practicing rheumatologist. She
is currently an MS student in Health Informatics at the
UP College of Medicine. While she likes learning about
technology, she thinks it imperative to disconnect on
occasion by reading books about various cultures, listening
to new music, and trying out different kinds of food.

Eileen Villegas
Si Eileen ay isang licensed agriculturist na nagtapos ng
BS Agriculture sa UP Los Baños. Siya ay kasalukuyang
kumukuha ng MS Development Communication sa
nasabing unibersidad. Kasapi siya ng Linangan sa Imahen,
Retorika, at Anyo (LIRA) at lumabas ang kaniyang mga
tula sa Philippines Graphic at Liwayway at sa antolohiyang Lila:
Mga Tula.

Vincen Gregory Yu
Vincen is part of the UP College of Medicine Class of
2016. In 2019, he won the Nick Joaquin Literary Award
for Fiction and the Maningning Miclat Poetry Award, and
self-published the chapbook An Ecological Disaster: Poems
and Stories. He has been the resident theater critic for the
Philippine Daily Inquirer since he was a med student.

148
Mga Editor
Joey A. Tabula
Nagtapos si Joti ng Medisina sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas at nagsanay ng Internal Medicine
sa Philippine General Hospital. Naging editor siya ng “From the Eyes of a Healer: An
Anthology of Medical Anecdotes” at co-editor ng “BULAWAN: Interviews with Filipino
Medical Oncologists.” Kasalukuyan siyang pangalawang pangulo at pabliser ng Linangan sa
Imahen, Retorika, at Anyo (LIRA) at board member ng Unyon ng mga Manunulat sa Pilipinas
(UMPIL). Naging co-panelist siya sa kauna-unahang CNF Writers’ Workshop for Doctors ng
Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center ngayong 2020. Kasalukuyan niyang tinatapos
ang kaniyang tesis para sa MFA in Creative Writing sa De La Salle University.

Alvin B. Caballes
Alvin has long been fascinated with the printed word. He has worked with letterpress,
mimeographs, offset presses, and desktop printing in successive school publications.
He even became a Collegian staff, but decided to quit after writing a single article. He
thereafter obtained his medical degree from UP, trained in pediatric surgery at PGH, and
had graduate studies at UP Diliman and Princeton University. He now heads the Social
Medicine Unit at the UP College of Medicine, from which he hopes to further students’
interest not just in medical literature but also literature in medicine.

Noel P. Pingoy
Noel is a proud graduate of Davao Medical School Foundation. He completed his residency
in Internal Medicine and fellowship in Hematology and in Medical Oncology at the
University of the Philippines-Philippine General Hospital. He has been to creative writing
workshops in Dumaguete, Iligan, Iloilo and Manila. He is now based in Koronadal, South
Cotabato and Gen. Santos City.
149
 Nagdisenyo ng pabalat ng libro: Alfonso Rafael Abaya
Nagdisenyo ng libro: Marie Bernadine Caballes
Retrato sa pabalat mula kay Roberto Miguel Lava

150
151
152