As the first episode of the Philippines Graphic Literary Workshop (PGLW) slowly came to its conclusion on February 28, we knew that we had one more thing that we can offer our bright young fellows: a starting platform for their creative endeavors. Here, we present one of their final outputs from the workshop. We also asked them to provide an artwork that they think best represents their stories. Read on.
From the shelter of the trees, the stretch of the coastline looked flawless.
Rosa’s hair flopped in wet streaks against the back of her neck, wetting the collar of her shirt and making the light blue dampen darker. The coffee at hand helped erase the shivering from
that early shower, though her left knee throbbed faintly still. All the wind did was worsen the chill. Guests from the nearby resort loitered, as the staff and other volunteers did last-minute preparations off behind her. Rosa could feel the strangers’ far-off curiosity. One look at their gathering of lonely women after dawn, who should be abed and warm with husbands or busy with children to mind; who wouldn’t linger to stare? Their uniform surely added to the interest. Blue close to neon, recognizable within the community even without the font of their sisterhood and its year of establishment emblazoned, with, against Rosa’s sole vote of disagreement, licking touches of flames.
No matter. Neither the shirt nor the design will keep her knee from acting out, so Rosa went and put her gloves on.
The empty bag for garbage was secured within her familiar grip. There could be countless things, hidden amongst the sand. Cleaning up, even if it’s after others, was just another task that needed performing.
Under the soles of her shoes, dead coral fragments crunched as Rosa took her first throbbing step after the signal had been given, and off to her hunt she went.
Through the armor of her gloves, Rosa felt for the strength of a stick in her hand, judging how decayed it could have been as she picked it off the lap of a wave. When the core still suggested strength, she cleaned the peeling bark as best she could and used the pointed end to turn a rock over. It has become increasingly difficult, crouching with a knee like hers. Only the memory of childhood by the beaches has her coming back, and Rosa looked on with a melancholic fondness as a gray crab, barely the size of her thumb, scurried off after being disturbed. A returning fold of waves carried it away, and Rosa’s tiniest joys with it. The coastlines were never the same. In agreement, the wash left behind a sheet of silver, no doubt the inner lining of some discarded plastic.
Rosa bent with a huff. In her hand was a torn packet of chips.
Her knee clicked as she straightened up. The ache that had seemed so distant as they’d travelled earlier was coming back now, anticipating all the clicks and throbs it would make as Rosa looked on at the stretch of the coast. What had looked so flawless at first glance was slowly revealing the shining poison burrowed underneath. Even dotted with the amount of their volunteers still the sweep of sand dwarfed their numbers. They would be lucky to finish before midmorning.
She handed her prize to the plastic bag in her other hand. The black bag swallowed the offering easily.
Bend. Look. Stand. Click. Bend. Look. Stand. Click. There was a strange therapeutic element to the motions she took, despite the dull pressure also making itself known in her lower back. But Rosa shouldered on, dragging the bag of garbage growing heavier steadily. A plastic cup. A lonely golden shoe. A prongless spork. Paper plates with strands of pansit still clinging on the surface, far up the sand and so, untouched by the water. One look at the pawprints around it and Rosa could imagine a stray dog might have licked some of the leftovers off, but the resort attendants shooed the animals off the way of one guest, a barefoot woman ducking to look under cottages and around trees as if in search something.
If only people were better at managing what they had instead of discarding them, instead of just throwing them away. Rosa’s bag turned heavier and heavier. Another blue-clad volunteer waved her over for a break, and only then did she feel the height of the sun, her dried hair demanding to be put into place by a tie.
Tying off the edge of the bag with a knot, Rosa hobbled her way back. Click.
Blessie Bruce is an undergraduate student of the University of the Philippines Mindanao where she majors in Creative Writing. When not adding to her long list of works to read, she attempts to write ideas she knows will otherwise be forgotten. Her most recent achievement is winning in a gacha game. She considers luck as part destiny, part skill.
