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House of Lola
Notwithstanding its idyllic ambiance, Dumaguete City in the early '70s was a cheerful city overflowing with enigmas and desires. Amidst the brackish environs of Escaño Beach, a few kilometers from the city proper, an old house stood. In that rustic 18th-century house, there...
On Sundays…and Belonging
On Sundays and belonging,And when I used to mess around with Lolo’s typewriter:Clicking and clacking the worn-out buttons, it is legacySounding against my stubby child fingers.
You would often tell me stories about Mindoro:Of your father and the town hall—how he would walk a...
Autumn Song
He was there again tonight. Seated at the last table of the small, dark bar, a lighted cigar in his hand, looking at me intently, almost unmoving. He must be around sixty, a bit on the heavy side, his Caucasian features blurred in...
Tropical Sundews
this is the timewhen the greens are greener than beforeas above so belowthe midges regret worshippingthe false god of all false beingsthe dewdrops and dropletsof this rainforest in early mornings
they longed what it felt to prayand kneel before a deityears forgiven they could...
The Room Next Door
FICTION — I never really knew Eric. He was the kind of neighbor you saw often but never truly saw—a blur of dark shirts and headphone wires, slipping down the stairs with his phone in one hand and a plastic bag of instant noodles or soda in the other. Always alone.
Naked
I’ll wear nothingbut my trembling desirethe wild beat of my pulsethe lingering whispers of my past.
I’ll wear nothingbut the ache of my lost love the sweet sigh of my first joy The ecstatic cry of happiness.
I’ll wear nothing but the fire in my eyesnaked in your...
