𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "A Simple Kindness" by Kathleen D. Yambot

Layout by: Charisse Mae Suson Ardeza



 

Published by: Aprilyn Sado 

Date Published: February 17, 2025

Time Published: 12:33 PM

Category: Prose

Subject: The impact of kindness in today’s world.

In the middle of a bustling city, where everyone was rushing to get somewhere, there was a small café tucked in a corner. The clink of coffee cups and murmurs of conversations blended into the background noise of the world. It was there that I met Sarah. She had the kind of face that told a story—tired eyes, but a smile that tried to fight it.

She didn’t say much at first. I noticed her sitting alone, staring at her coffee, as if the world around her had faded into nothing. For some reason, I felt compelled to strike up a conversation, something I normally wouldn't do. Maybe it was the heaviness I saw in her, or maybe I just wanted to remind myself that kindness still existed, even in the smallest of interactions.

"Rough day?" I asked, half expecting her to shrug me off.

But instead, she looked up, as if she had forgotten that anyone else existed. "Yeah," she said, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You could say that."

And so we talked, not about anything grand, but about the little things—the weather, the stress of work, the little joys we still managed to find in our busy lives. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to change something in her. As I finished my coffee and stood to leave, she grabbed my sleeve.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I didn’t know I needed this conversation today."

I smiled and nodded, not realizing how deeply those words would stay with me. It was a simple act of kindness, nothing extraordinary. But that brief moment of human connection, of just being present with someone, gave her a spark. And that spark, I later learned, was enough to keep her going when everything else seemed too much.

Months later, I ran into Sarah again, this time at a park. Her face had changed. There was a warmth in her eyes now, something stronger than the emptiness I’d seen before.

"You probably don’t remember me," she said, as if the years had passed like minutes. "But that day you spoke to me, it saved me. You don’t know this, but I was planning to quit everything—work, life, all of it. Your words, though, they made me see that I still mattered."

In that moment, I realized how powerful even the smallest act of kindness can be. We often underestimate the impact we can have on others, thinking that our words and actions don't matter. But they do. Our kindness can reach further than we ever imagine, sometimes in ways we’ll never fully understand. It’s a ripple effect—one small gesture can spark something in someone else, and that spark can change their world forever.

In a world that often feels cold and disconnected, we have the ability to remind others of their worth. To show them that they’re not alone. And sometimes, that’s all someone needs to keep going. Kindness, in its simplest form, can save a life, or at least make it worth living again.

And that’s something worth remembering.

IMAGE SOURCE:

Beniamino. (2024, December 24). Pinterest. https://pin.it/2KaRVIh8w

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "A Dream Beyond Limits" by Kathleen D. Yambot

Published by: Aprilyn Sado

Date Published: February 14, 2025

Time Published: 5:08 PM

Category: Prose

Subject: Dream projects I'll pursue if there were no limits.

If there were no limits—no chains of circumstance, no barriers of time or money—my dream would unfold like a delicate thread weaving a tapestry of hope and humanity.

I see myself in a small, sunlit clinic, where the air carries the warmth of kindness rather than the weight of bills. The walls would be lined with hand-painted murals, a reflection of hope for those who walk through its doors. In this dream, I am not just a doctor. I am a healer in the truest sense—one who listens, one who understands, one who treats every patient with dignity, regardless of what’s in their pocket.

There would be no price tags on compassion, no forms proving someone deserves to live without pain. A child clutching a feverish doll, an elderly man with a trembling list of forgotten prescriptions—each would find relief here, not just in medicine but in being seen, in being valued.

This dream isn’t just about treating illness. It’s about honoring the lives behind each face. The mother who skips meals so her children can eat. The farmer whose hands tell a lifetime of stories in calloused lines. The unseen, the unheard, the ones who have spent their lives feeling invisible.

I wouldn’t just heal bodies—I’d help mend spirits. I’d build a place where kindness is the language, where healthcare isn’t a privilege but a right. Not because I see myself as a savior, but because I believe no one should have to fight alone.

In this limitless dream, I see myself not as a hero but as a thread in the fabric of something larger. A force that whispers, “You matter,” to those who’ve heard otherwise their entire lives.

If the world had no limits, this is how I’d spend my life: mending what is broken, not for profit, but for love.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "Haunted" by Michelle Piquero

Layout by: Michelle Piquero

Posted by: Michelle Piquero

Date Published: February 14, 2025

Time Published: 5:00 PM

Category: Prose

Theme: The haunting memory of a person from the past.

How do you grieve for a love that only lived in your heart? How do you mourn something that was never even real?

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯.

How odd is it to be haunted by someone that is still alive? It is a question if you loved me, but in my heart, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦.

Or maybe you weren't. You were never mine to hold—yet letting you go feels like losing a piece of myself I was never meant to have. As if I'm waking up from a dream that seemed too real—too precious, even though it was never really mine to keep.

You weren't ready to love, and I wasn't ready to be hurt.

Thus, not all scars are meant to be healed. They are intended to jog one's memory. A memory of what was once lost. A reminder of what once was.

But at least I got to experience what it's like to be loved by you and to have a peek at what could have been.

How devastating it is to bump into you one day as a stranger who shared a wonderful piece of memories together?

Especially to the one who holds a very special place in my heart, the one who allowed me to be vulnerable for a moment and showed no judgment, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.

How haunting is it to feel the ghost of your touch, your lips that I once kissed, and a love that I once owned?

Maybe I was just too vulnerable at that time that I mistook your love for something that I thought would last.

What a privilege it was to live in a world with you in it.

I'm afraid I'll spend my whole life wondering what it would be like with you around, 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥.

During the cold nights when your presence lingers, questions haunt me, and I'll always wonder—what could have happened if I had just been better?

The coffee's long gone cold, but I'm still here, waiting for the warmth to return.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦.

Why have we come to this point? I swear we were so in love—so hopeful.

Maybe this is the end of it all.

You are everywhere and nowhere all at once—fighting the ghosts I couldn't touch, grasping the air with a love that was never quite fair.

How funny is it that your absence isn't quiet—it screams through every moment, haunting me with love that was never truly mine to begin with.

Thus, not all ghosts are from the past—some are the ones that we once loved, whispering the memories we can't seem to erase, to be haunted, not by regret, but to be reminded of something that once felt too real. 

A reminder of what once yours, but 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Eden” by Francis Dwayne Catalan

Published by: Daniel Joshua Madrid 

Date Published: February 14, 2025

Time Published: 12:37 PM

Category: Poetry

Theme: The starking contrast between the untouched beauty of the past and the desolate state of the present.

In the beginning, there was paradise—

Where the sun spilled gold upon tender leaves,

Where rivers flowed as clear as daylight,

And the earth was soft as a mother’s caress.

But where is the garden now,

Where once the sky was rich with promise

And the soil bent low with fruit

Too heavy to hold in one hand?

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥!

Cities began to rise like forgotten giants,

The air thickens with murmurs of a smokescreen,

The earth thirsts for the touch of a healing rain,

While roots cling desperately to lumps of dirt.

The branches, once full,

Now reach toward empty space—

Empty of fruit,

Empty of shade.

Oceans, once brimming with life,

Thus echo with the silence of fading waters;

Coral gardens drown beneath the burden of waste,

As fishes flail in dreams long abandoned.

The sea had begged, whispering prayers

To the winds that carry its lamentations ashore,

"𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴,

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸?"

Fires consume the life of the forest,

Burning verdant lands into desolate ashes,

Where creatures once roamed with freedom,

Thus seeking refuge in memories of what once were.

They wailed amidst their impending doom,

"𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦,

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱?"

They stood, they crawled, they walked,

But there was no road—

Only the destruction left behind,

The deluge in its wake.

Thus all they have left were their paws

That reach, that grasp,

That tear through the earth

Only to find it barren.

𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝗪𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗘𝗱𝗲𝗻—

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀, 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Fingerache” by Francis Dwayne Catalan

 

Layout by: Joey Francisco

Published by: Kristine Caye Emono

Date Published: February 14, 2025

Time Published: 12:25 PM

Category: Poetry

Subject: Losing passion for something you once loved.

There was a time when your voice soared through the cosmos—

Each note a sigh, a breath that made the universe bend and listen.

I would close my eyes, and the room would fill with echoes of something timeless

While the world outside faded to gray, like a canvas of muted dreams.

I remember how the room would tremble with the language of your soul—

How the keys would bloom under the pressure of your longing, as if they were alive.

Your fingers were not just fingers, but a maestro of your heart's orchestra,

Carrying something pure and endless into the air.

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂—

The only one who could make notes breathe.

But the seasons, they shift—not in the sky,

But in the quiet thrum of a heart tired from living.

Fingers once eager now falter, as if they’ve forgotten how to dance,

Like leaves adrift in still waters.

The chords lay silent on the page, untouched for days on end,

Like forgotten letters sealed with regret;

Each note far too lost to be remembered,

Yet far too memorable to be forgotten.

I don’t remember when the music stopped calling,

When the spaces between the notes grew too wide,

When the silence became less of a void and more of a companion.

The strings, once taut, have loosened now, touched only by a ghost of memory.

It wasn’t sudden, this death of music—

𝘕𝘰, it bled out slowly—a note here, a note there,

Until one day, everything turned to dust,

Like the last embers of a fire too tired to burn.

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗜—

I am but a ghost by your side, watching the silence grow.

I could no longer remember the last song you truly loved—

It just slipped away through the cracks of passing hours, like a fugitive melody,

Lost somewhere between breaths and heartbeats—

Until I was left with only the faintest echo of a symphony that once painted my world.

Yet I chose to stay, as I stood before you,

An old friend from a distant dream.

I reached out, as my fingers brushed the keys once more,

But the notes were already dead.

The silence spoke louder than anything I could play,

And the music was long gone,

Like the dwindling light of a sunset—soft and inevitable,

Until all that remained was an ebony dusk, shrouded with unshed tears.

And thus I bid you farewell, leaving you

Where the dust settles thick, where the air keeps still,

Like the fading warmth of a hand

That once held me close.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Unspoken Goodbyes” by Khim Lhady May Galasinao

Published by: Jean Ashley Lugod 

Date Published: February 13, 2025

Time Published: 5:00 PM 

Category: Prose

Theme: Letting go of the memories and promises that you promised to keep.

The cold breeze brushes against my skin, seeping through the fabrics of my sweater. My fingers tighten around the worn ropes of the swing, fraying beneath my grip—like us.

Beside me, the other swing moves with the wind—empty. For a moment, I see you there again: feet barely touching the ground, hands gripping the ropes as you laughed, tilting your head toward me like you always did when you talked about the future–our future.

“We’ll buy a house, and adopt lots of cats,” you once said, your eyes twinkling with certainty. “After college, when things are easier, let's move out together?” You smiled with your eyes, and I nodded. Back then, it felt so real. How beautiful–the idea of us together, forever.

At first, we held on to that promise, convincing ourselves that love was enough to outlast the distance. But as time passed, we realized how naive we were. We thought we were immune to change, that life wouldn’t pull us in different directions. Little by little, everything changed–not all at once, but in fragments too small to notice at first.

The late replies.

The unreturned calls.

The quiet hesitations in your voice when I asked if you still missed me.

We kept telling ourselves it was temporary, that the distance between us was only a phase. Yet, as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, without realizing it, we had become strangers with memories instead of lovers with a future.

At first, we tried. God, we really did. We made plans, set dates, and promised to visit each other no matter how exhausted we were. But life had other plans. The assignments, deadlines, unmatched schedule, piled up. One excuse turned into another, and before we knew it, we just… stopped trying.

It wasn’t that we stopped loving each other. Rather, we stopped choosing each other.

“What if we never outgrew each other?”

“What if we fought harder?”

Again and again, the questions loop in my head, over and over, but the answers never come. Maybe that's the thing about love–it isn’t just about holding on; it's also knowing when to let go.

I close my eyes, and for a brief moment, I can picture it—the life that we built together. A home where laughter replaced silence, free from the echoes of angry voices. e without screaming angry people around. The two children we named Clyde and Vienna. The way you’d capture moments through your camera lens.

I can almost hear us again, tracing our fingers across maps, whispering about Denmark, Paris, Switzerland—the places we swore we’d visit together one day.

And then, there’s the wedding we always talked about. Something small, intimate, just us and the people who mattered.

We spoke of it with such certainty, as if it were already real.

And then, just like that, it’s gone.

The swing beneath me sways softly, the wind nudging me forward. A silent reminder that it’s time to go.

But how do you walk away from something that was never yours to lose?

How do you grieve a love that was never given the chance to bloom?

My breath trembles as I exhale, watching it dissolve into the cold air. Slowly, my hands, once clenched so tightly around the ropes, loosen. The swing rocks back, weightless without me.

My breath trembles as I exhale, watching it dissolve into the cold air. My hands, once clenched so tightly around the ropes, loosen. The swing rocks back, weightless without me.

I rise to my feet and take slow steps forward, leaving behind not just the swing, but the weight of our memories.

This time, I won’t look back. Because now, I understand—some things aren’t meant to be ours to keep, no matter how much we wish they were.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "Whirlwind Thoughts" by Khate Ashley Zaneah D. Castillo

Layout by: Misha Mikylla Sanchez

Published by: John Kurt Gabriel Reyes

Date Published: February 13, 2025

Time Published: 3:09 PM

Category: Prose

Subject: Finding presence amidst uncertainty

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨."

Like a hummingbird, wings a blur, darting from flower to flower. It drinks nectar and then zooms off again as its tiny brain calculates the next bloom.

Envision this hummingbird flying around this intensely colorful flower and beating its minuscule heart a thousand miles per minute. So preoccupied with what the next "nectar" is—𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦—we lose the experiences and moments that are unfolding in the present.

We get so mired in anxieties about tomorrow that we forget to stay present and seize the moment to appreciate and indulge in it.

That might be the case. I've felt it repeatedly and I know it deep inside. Not once or twice, but multiple times.

Sometimes it feels like we’re caught in a whirlwind, walking around with all our thoughts reeling about what the future holds.

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴?"

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵?"

It’s like looking through a foggy window and only seeing shadows of possibilities. But 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 in worrying about tomorrow?

There may be some truth to that, mayhap. Worrying about what's ahead sometimes acts as a 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘵; we can brace ourselves for the things we dread. It's like shielding ourselves from the storm before it hits, hoping that by thinking ahead, we might prevent the chaos we fear.

But... 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. It is a time of wild moments, sometimes full of excitement, perhaps, but agony and, oh—yes—that lurking fear is heavy.

Do you know that knot that forms in the pit of your stomach when you get the feeling everything might just come crashing down around you?

Well, that's the scary part.

𝘋𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺.

I can't stand it.

IMAGE SOURCE:

Pinterest. (2025, February 2). Heather Core. Pinterest. https://pin.it/1ORUoVLip

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "Solace in Silence" by Khate Ashley Zaneah D. Castillo

 

Published by: John Kurt Gabriel Reyes

Date Published: February 13, 2025

Time Published: 2:59 PM

Category: Prose

Theme: Struggling with trust and vulnerability in the wake of betrayal.

I hate this awful feeling, this creeping inability to trust with the same unbridled abandon I once possessed. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, rendering me wary and hesitant to offer my trust.

Sometimes I find solace in this guarded stance, a bittersweet victory over the wounds of the past. Yet at other times, 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦.

And that's what bothers me—I loathe my self for it—how my self-built defenses end up wounding the same people who sincerely care about my welfare. It's like their love and care, that undying devotion gets churned into poisonous elixir by my negative thoughts.

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦-𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.

It is a recourse to self-preservation, a last ditch effort to avoid the inevitable pain of rejection—the chilling abandonment that has become a recurring nightmare in my life. I fear the day I am left adrift, like a lost ship at sea, ignored and forgotten to nothing more than a footnote in the lives of those who swore eternal love to me.

I am haunted by selfishness, something I detest yet cannot seem to shake off. I did not opt for this loneliness.

𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬?

Especially when facing the unknown. Fear, a remorseless tormentor gnaws at my soul.

𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥?

I want to be understood, to be recognized for the deep pain that drives my reticence.

In the silence of my loneliness, I hold on to a faint hope, a fragile prayer that someone, somewhere, will have the strength to withstand the tribulations of my battered heart. Someone who will fill the gap of my mistrust, someone who will extend his hand, his heart, his unconditional love without a shadow of doubt and without a single hesitation.

𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Cross Stitched” by Ma. Nicole Pierre P. Saban

 

Published by: Kristine Caye Emono

Date Published: February 13, 2025

Time Published: 12:50 PM

Category: Poetry

Subject: Creating the future one choice at a time.

Just to be able to save what was left, I let the needle fly.

Seconds before being dragged apart by the fingers,

From the loop of obligations secured to the wrist,

To the feeling of the barest rip down to the middle.

Left with two opposing halves of the same cloth,

Each moving farther apart towards different paths,

Unknowing that both are nothing without the other,

Forsaken because of fear, who brought indecision.

Of somehow having been born with a different lifeline,

Brought only about a chance of being a better version,

Having all the same patterns, yet faultless in being,

Someone that I would've looked back to in creation.

Towards the fusion of two only made quite possible, 

By every stitch I completed throughout every day,

Being intertwined on the edges, solely by my hand,

Not through acts of calculation, pressure, or rebellion,

But one of love,

Used each time a thread slips away.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “To ignite the flame that never was” by Angelica Grace D. Misa

Published by: Michelle Piquero
Date Published: February 13, 2025
Time Published: 8:40 AM

CATEGORY: Prose
Theme: An old flame coming back again in hopes to beg for forgiveness.

You and I have begun to blur.

The images of our happy moments, now turning into a bitter reminder of what once was.

The feelings I once felt, the sacrifices I was willing to make, the things I would once tolerate just for the sake of being acknowledged by you – they are all diluted down into nothing but a speck of dirt I am now looking down upon with all the disgrace in the world.

Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?

“I don’t love you, I'm just passing the time.”

Isn’t that what you always used to say?

Now you’re groveling at my feet, hoping to bring back the past that wished never happened. You’re nothing like the person you always said you were meant to be: prideful, ambitious, brave, proud.

Now you’ve turned into something you’ve always disdained.

Now you’ve turned into someone like me.
Or rather, someone I once was.

Hopeless, dependent, weak, pathetic.

Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?

I hope the ghost of my love continues to haunt you for the rest of your life. I hope it lingers under your skin, itching to be noticed, carrying the guilt you thought would wither away if you had just ignored it – but it’s there, haunting you, just like I once did.

I left you my broken heart, the bitter reality that you can’t swallow. You wish to glue them back together, but you and I both know you’ll do it just for your own sake again – because god knows you’ve never known yourself as well as you do when you’re with me. I let you know me, see me. I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.

You denied the changes. You denied my feelings. And you denied your own. But now that I’ve left and have moved on, you peel back the bandage covering the wound that has already healed, in hopes to see a chance to ruin me all over again. You wish to once again reignite the flame of the candle that I already threw away. 

Now I ask…

Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Best Friends” by Ma. Nicole Pierre P. Saban

Layout by: Gabryael Quijano

Published by: Michelle Piquero

Date Published: February 12, 2025

Time Published: 9:12 AM

Category: Poetry

Subject: Love & Friendship

All those I have loved and will ever love,

Would have told me the exact same thing.

"We were better as friends.”

Going through our days without any thought of care or motion.

Obsessively contemplating what was now clearly adamant,

How we barely got to acknowledge one another as lovers.

Looking back, we didn't act any differently.

Having no idea how to separately treat our progression,

We became complacent in letting things go unsaid.

Years spent just like that, forming walls between us,

Until it was far too late to notice how we were truly ahead.

What was once so natural grew tainted with bitterness,

That even the thought of speaking up became an endless chore.

Through hoping for a response beyond a quick dismissal,

Gave way to the desire to just end things without discussion.

The reason why the glimpses of what we have been through,

All the possible signs we missed before the point of no return,

Have stayed to linger here, deeply ingrained in my mind.

So if by any chance that time would start all over again—

Please, if not for your own sake, then for mine.

I hope we both choose the same,

To stay as friends. 

IMAGE SOURCE:

Frost Sandoval. 2024. Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/p/DD6wNYkSSam/?igsh=ZWpyaWtiaTZ3Y2ly

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "The Ties That Anchor the Heart" by Kathleen D. Yambot

Layout by: Jewell Ann Calingasan

Published by: Annika Howie Quizana

Date Published: February 12, 2025

Time Published: 8:25 AM

Category: Prose

Subject: What makes someone a great friend or partner.

A great friend or partner isn’t someone who merely shares your laughter or stands with you in the light. It’s someone who pulls you close when the shadows grow long, who reminds you—without needing words—that you are never truly alone.  

They make you feel cherished, not by grand gestures, but by the quiet, persistent ways they show they care. It’s in the way they remember the smallest details about your dreams or how they instinctively know when silence is what you need most.  

When life feels overwhelming, their presence steadies you like a ship’s anchor in stormy seas. They don’t always have to solve your problems or fix your broken pieces. They simply sit with you in your mess, their companionship whispering, “You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.” 

With them, you feel seen—every flawed, messy, radiant part of you. They notice the parts of you the world often overlooks: the way you light up when talking about something you’re passionate about, or how you care for others even when you’re running on empty. They see you not just for who you are, but for who you could become, and they quietly, steadily encourage you to reach for it.  

Greatness in friendship or partnership is not found in perfection but in presence. It’s about creating a space where vulnerability feels safe, where joy feels brighter, and where love—true, unshakable love—roots itself so deeply that no storm could ever tear it away.  

In the end, they remind you of this simple, profound truth: you are worthy. Worthy of love. Worthy of being cherished. And worthy of being seen, just as you are.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "The Dance Between Choice and Destiny" by Kathleen D. Yambot

 

Layout by: Allysonkim Villanueva

Published by: Kristine Joyce Soriano 

Date Published: February 06, 2025

Time Published: 5:18 PM

Category: Prose

Theme: Free will vs. fate: Do we truly control our destiny? 

Life is an unpredictable dance between the choices we make and the circumstances we’re given. Sometimes, it feels like we have full control, steering ourselves toward a specific future. Other times, life takes unexpected turns, making us wonder if we ever had a say in the first place.

Take Maya, for example. She had been chasing her dream of becoming a musician for years, pouring her heart into every song. But after countless rejections, she started questioning if she was meant for this path. One night, feeling defeated, she picked up her guitar and played on a quiet street corner—no expectations, just pure passion. A stranger passing by stopped to listen. As fate would have it, he was a well-known music producer. That single, unplanned performance changed her life. Was it fate that placed her there at the perfect moment, or was it all the years of hard work leading up to that night that made the encounter inevitable?

Then there’s Elias, a man who planned his life down to the smallest details. He had a roadmap for his career, finances, and future. But life had other plans. A chance meeting with a stranger—someone he never intended to cross paths with—altered his direction entirely. That person became his greatest mentor, opening doors he hadn’t even considered. Did Elias truly shape his own destiny, or was something greater nudging him toward that meeting?

History is filled with figures whose lives straddled the line between free will and destiny. Consider Alexander Fleming, who accidentally discovered penicillin. Was it sheer luck that his petri dish developed mold in just the right way, or was he always meant to revolutionize medicine? If he hadn’t been a meticulous scientist capable of recognizing its significance, would that moment have been wasted?

Even our personal choices often reflect this duality. A person who moves to a new city for work might later realize they met their best friend or life partner as a result. Did their decision shape their fate, or was fate shaping them all along?

And what about those who narrowly escape tragedy? The person who misses a flight that later crashes, or the one who randomly decides to take a different route home and avoids disaster. Were those moments purely coincidental, or was there an unseen force guiding them?

Perhaps the real beauty of life is in the not knowing. Instead of choosing between free will and fate, maybe the secret is to embrace both. We make choices every day, but life also has its way of surprising us. Rather than fixating on who’s in control, maybe the most meaningful thing we can do is simply live the journey—one decision, one unexpected twist at a time.

IMAGE SOURCE: Hernández, A. (2023, December 28). I LOVE NATURE ❤. Pinterest. https://ph.pinterest.com/pin/976718237923983795/

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Hierarchy of Intimacy” by Frans Danielle R. Castillo

 

Layout by: Misha Mikylla Sanchez

Published by: Christine Mae Karunungan

Date Published: February 5, 2025

Time Published: 1:59 PM

Category: Prose 

Subject: Other types of intimacy

Intimacy doesn't always revolve around physical contact so that you can feel each other’s warmth and be able to see the beauty of their soul. 

It can be in the form of cooking a dish that they once mentioned because they want to try it. As they taste that dish, their face will immediately light up with how good it tasted, and they will thank you for making such good food. 

Telling each other the song that you recently listened to and recommending it to them because you want them to like what you like and also because in that way you will feel connected with them through music. Having a shared playlist and adding songs that you both like and are reminded of each other is a kind of feeling that you can call “ours.” Not mine. Not theirs. Ours. 

Putting nail polish on them just to have a reason to hold their hand and talk about random things that you can think of. After that, both of you were left with silence, but it was a comfortable one. That’s when you realized that you don’t need words just to feel each other’s presence. You don’t need to always make a sound just to know you’re by each other’s side. 

Intimacy is where you can tell them the things that have been running through your mind without having the fear that they might get scared and run away, but instead it makes them want to know more why you are the way you are, and they will still love you anyway.

It does not always need to revolve around physical contact just so you can feel each other's warmth and presence. It can also be in the form of understanding them in order to know how to love them in a way they want to be loved.

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "Echoes of the Unheard" by Hayden Jam Recto

Layout by: Charisse Mae Suson Ardeza

Published by: John David Viñas

Date Published: February 3, 2025

Time Published: 6:46PM

Category: Poetry

Theme: The Unheard Cries and the Promise of Change in a Nation

The banners wave in a restless air,

Promises whispered, yet burdens laid bare.

From gilded halls, their voices resound,

But do they hear the cries on the ground?

The farmer bends beneath the sun’s heat,

The worker trudges with weary feet.

While towers rise, their shadows fall,

Hiding the struggles of those who crawl.

Leadership is a torch, bright and bold,

Meant to guide through storms and cold.

But hands that hold it, weak or strong,

Shape the nation, right or wrong.

The gap between the rich and the poor,

An open wound that begs a cure.

Will leaders walk where the people bleed,

Or drown their cries in endless greed?

Yet hope remains, like a dawn's embrace,

In every child's unyielding face.

A new generation, bold and wise,

With dreams that touch the open skies.

Oh, Philippines, rise from despair,

Your strength is found in hearts that care.

A future awaits where justice is king,

And every voice has a song to sing.

IMAGE SOURCE:

Abdulllahi. (2023, July 17). Social stratification. Pinterest. https://pin.it/5i64NLfEN

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Carpe Diem” by Lara Marie De Leon

Layout by: Cristian Tulisana

Published by: Aprilyn Sado

Date Published: January 29, 2025

Time Published: 2:47 PM

Category: Prose

Subject: The act of living in the now.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”

We waste so much of our lives, of ourselves, waiting—and as if we were promised endless of it, we continue to wait for the right moment, for tomorrow.

But this is how the poem goes: “This same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.” The same graceful bloom we see now, so wonderfully alive, may wilt before us—neglected, leaving only a memory of its radiance vividly engraved in our minds. And so it is with our lives.

𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘮.

Seize the day. The poets have urged us countless times, in their many pieces of poetry. Yet, we hesitate, drunk in our illusions, seeing time through kaleidoscope glasses—never quite as what it truly is.

The moment to act, to live, is now. Not next week, not in some distant future we imagine will always be there waiting for us, but now. In the same breath we are taking. We’re only mortals—we cannot predict what tomorrow may bring, nor can we place bets that it will even be. Though it’s a hard pill to swallow, all we truly have is today.

The clock never stops ticking. The carousel never stops turning; we can never get off. And with them, so too do the chances we are given. Some doors close for eternity.

So let us gather these rosebuds, appreciate the beauty in every passing second, and feel the warm breeze while we can. Choose the imperfect, the now. Let us stop giving our fate up to the stars, waiting for the right moment. For the gift that is our today, though fragile and unpredictable, is more precious than any dream of tomorrow. It is in the here and now that we can be something, the only moment we are able to love, explore, and experience life in all its fullness.

Let every petal be a glaring reminder of our mortality, a call to live vibrantly, to chase after all our hopes, to connect with the people around us, and just feel. To seize the day is to accept the uncertainty of life and to live boldly in spite of it. For though the flower may die, the life we are living today will embroider a mark far more lasting than any flower’s bloom.

So, gather your rosebuds while you may, and make much of your time. For time, as Herrick warns us, is fleeting—and it waits for no one.

REFERENCE:

[1] Academy of American Poets. (2017). To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time. Poets.org. https://poets.org/poem/virgins-make-much-time

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “The Wilting Fig Tree” by Lara Marie De Leon

Published by: Aprilyn Sado

Date Published: December 25, 2024

Time Published: 4:09 PM

Category: Prose

Theme: The desire to be everything all at once

There are still so much—in general. An endless string of possibilities stretches before me. So many instruments I’m dying to play—languages to learn, songs to hear, people to meet, foods to taste, places to visit, stories to write, lives to live.

Every corner of my world screams with things I have yet to explore. Each and every one of them calls upon me, begging for me to reach out. I fear I desire more than I act upon; my brain is forever filled with dreams of where I could go or who I might become.

And yet, after all the dreaming, I still wait. Stuck in this dark, tight space between wanting to be and my relentless pursuit of becoming. I push myself over the edge, working towards trying to 𝘣𝘦 rather than actually 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨—as if truly living requires some sense of perfection that I have yet to achieve.

I believe it’s my strange, consuming obsession with searching for meaning. My desire to understand why I am here and what I am meant to do. That might be what fuels my will to still be here: to find meaning. And to find it in a way that feels undeniably true.

I desire to have it—violently, even desperately—yet I am always at a wait, waiting with a gnawing impatience that slowly fills my chest. It’s a growing fire, both warm and merciless, pushing me forward as it keeps me still. I imagine all the things I can be—all the lives I’ll touch, the beauty I’ll gather—but it stays in this wide realm of anticipation, forever out of reach.

And of course, I wait, feeling every second pass, filled with the urgency of wanting but frozen by the fear of moving too soon or not moving in the right direction.

In this tension, I wonder if perhaps this state of waiting, wanting, and reaching is its own kind of being. Maybe I am already as alive as I will ever be in this in-between place. Maybe in some strange way, this is the meaning—this longing, this desire to see, to learn, to know. It’s as if by reaching for all things at once, I find myself connected to it all, tethered to life in all its possibilities.

And maybe, in the end, the waiting and the wanting are simply part of the journey toward being fully here, truly human, truly alive.