liv 2
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Heights LIV 2 FolioTRANSCRIPT
heightsVolume liv Number 2Copyright © 2007
Copyright reverts to the respective authors and artists whose works appear in this issue. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced in any means whatsoever without the written permission of the copyright holder.
This publication is not for sale.
Correspondence may be addressed to:Heights, Publications Room, Gonzaga Hall, Room 206Ateneo de Manila University, p.o. Box 154, ManilaTel. No. 426–6001 Loc. [email protected]
Heights is the official literary publication and organization of the Ateneo de Manila University
Cover Design Stef MacamDesign and Layout JPaul Marasigan Katrina Alvarez
Printed in the Philippines by Midtown Printing Co., Inc.
iiivol. liv no. 2
Editorial
t was a bright summer day when I found it, behind
boxes full of folders and stacked notebooks, worn from
use and dusty with age. My childhood possessions
again see the light of day: plastic bead necklaces and friendship
bracelets tucked alongside Lisa Frank stickers and colorful statio-
nery, treasures ransomed for maturity and things more grown-up.
I was nine, content in the company of my imagination, my hands
sticky from glue, immersed in securing the double knots on my new-
est little trinket—a pink and violet piece held together by safety pins
and love. I spent my afternoons finding the prettiest color combi-
nations and adding as many beads and sequins as the flimsy nylon
string could handle. Until one day the string broke, and all was for-
gotten until today.
To be a child is to be awed by the world. More than just catching
our eye, all manners of working, existing, functioning called us to
play and poke and discover. I ended up spending many lazy after-
noons of my summer making those bracelets. Indeed, what I loved
I
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more than the sense of accomplishment was finding out what else
was there and what could be. Ordinary beads, crystals, and string
soon became one-of-a-kind creations of blue and silver, bright red
with gold, pale pinks and orange—my little rainbows.
But as rainstorms soon replace rainbows, we come to learn that
not all things are bright and sparkly. These scraps and oddments
began to be looked upon as child’s play, a filler, and a stopgap until
we learn enough to focus on more “important things.”
We at Heights believe in the value of taking a second glance. Look
back, you won’t turn into a pillar of salt (I hope.) and re-experience
what you’ve always known. Realize that child-likeness is not child-
ishness when we see the world through newly-opened eyes. As you
look through these pages, we invite you to wander with us, to won-
der with us as we share to you what we have stumbled upon.
Audrey Trinidad Editor-in-Chief February 2007
vvol. liv no. 2
ContentsPoetry Louise Bacoy
For My Husband, Coming Home from His Lover
When it is Night, I Think of You
Santy Calalay
You Saw Me at the Holocaust
Miguel Escaño
9 Poems of Humor and Wonderment
Julio Junongbayan
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Ali Sangalang
Jaywalking
Fiction Miguel Escaño
The Man on the Moon
Essay Camille Pilar
The Magayon Woman
3
5
6
8
10
11
15
29
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Art Gallery Migs Mercado
Down the Rabbit Hole
Danie San Pedro
Alice Gets Lost Again
Pancho Alvarez
Reming Visits Albay
Elie Javier
Lover’s Own
Alana Intal
Tricks
Joanna Ruaro
While You’re Sleeping
JPaul Marasigan
Anong Meron?
Maurice Wong
Traveler’s Tales
Kim Bartolome
Furusato
42
43
45
47
48
49
50
51
52
�vol. liv no. 2
Louise Bacoy
I am your have to have.
I am yours like air--
Touching your skin,
Around you, inside you, in your mouth
(when you sleep with it wide open).
I carry our vows
Like an overfull glass,
Careful not to spill
A drop of us outside the bed.
There is no waking up at midnight;
No pushing fists inside
Dirty trouser pockets
Searching for lost letters.
For My Husband, Coming Home from His L over
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For I know
That when we were cleaved
To make one whole,
We left parts of us behind,
And your goodnight kisses
Are pieces from her I must collect.
5vol. liv no. 2
I think of you in the manner I think
Of the words of my evening prayer:
Guiltily rushed but earnest in that
Dear Lord if at morn I do not wake,
This tired soul that clings to my body
Like heavy bedding
Would find itself woven (anew)
Into dreams that watch over your sleep.
When it is Night, I Think of You
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Santy Calalay
You saw me at the Holocaust,
We spoke with our old tongue.
They forced us to wear coats,
Made from the mud of our streets
Where we told the ghosts
Of our children to play,
Where the ashes of our people
Whipped past our faces
Then scattered in the air.
We breathed in their screams,
We breathed in their prayers,
The remains of people’s names
At the moment of last breaths.
We walked on withered planks
To the hovel where sleep is done wide-eyed,
You Saw Me at the Holocaust
7vol. liv no. 2
Where we were fed the idea of meat.
We sat, washed with mud and water,
We passed and broke last week’s bread.
We sang on stolen temple wine,
Took the wailing violin player’s instrument,
And lit it for our warmth.
We took nervous puffs
From the saboteur’s cigarettes
Before we slept and dreamt
Of new cities below old stars.
And one day when those men
Took you away, I could not help
But smile “not I.”
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Miguel Escaño
I must compliment
The lowly water dipper
For catching the moon.
Passing overhead,
The nightingale shares with me
It’s evening droppings.
Turning from my wife,
I listen to the mewling
Outside our window.
In the deep twilight,
A moth asks the falling leaves,
“Are you my lover?”
9 Haikus of Humor and Wonderment
9vol. liv no. 2
In a dusty room
Of the old temple, the mice
Gnaw the Budda’s feet.
In the stone garden.
The wooden statues raise hands
Eaten by termites.
The water strider
Glides between lily buds
Of the sleeping pond.
I have forgotten
A seed in my sake cup---
It is now a rose.
Beneath a new moon,
Paper lanterns leave a trail
Of curious fireflies.
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Julio Julongbayan
Kinalabit
Ng kinupit kong halik
Ang gatilyo ng ’yong galit
Kaya nakitil
Ang pintig
Ng ating pag-ibig
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
15vol. liv no. 2
Miguel Escaño
fter the first Filipinos climbed Mount Everest,
children started planting flags everywhere. They
climbed the water tower. They hiked up the hill out-
side town. They climbed trees in their backyards. They climbed roof-
tops all over the neighborhood. They would have climbed skyscrap-
ers if there were any nearby.
It was a race among the children. It was a game to reach the high-
est point. Filipinos had conquered Mount Everest. The Philippine
flag was planted on the peak of the world’s tallest mountain. The
children asked each other, “What have you climbed lately? What
have you conquered today?”
To mark their ascent, the children placed flags at the top. At first,
they planted small Philippine flags. Later, they used flags with their
names written in big colorful letters. Some flags were one color. Oth-
The Man on the Moon
A
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er flags had more colors than the rainbow.
Children beamed after planting a flag. Parents felt proud when
they saw their child’s flag around town.
Not all children felt the same joy. Not all parents felt the same
pride.
Edmund felt small when he saw the children’s flags above his
head. His mother felt glad when she did not see her son’s name on a
flag as she walked about town.
The other children teased Edmund for not planting flags like
them. Parents wondered why Edmund was not climbing places like
other children did.
Edmund was named after the British explorer Sir Edmund Hilary.
He was the first man to reach the top of Mount Everest. His father
died when Edmund was a baby. A mountaineer, Edmund’s father
died while rescuing others during a landslide.
After her husband’s death, Edmund’s mother wanted her son to
stay away from high places. “Keep your feet on the ground. Be safe at
all times,” she always reminded him.
His classmates teased him everyday. “Edmund’s afraid of heights,”
they said. “When he looks at his feet, he gets dizzy,” they joked
Edmund grew tired of his classmates teasing him. He felt envious
of the other children as they climbed high places and planted their
flags on top. He grew angry at his mother for not allowing him to
17vol. liv no. 2
join the other children in climbing expeditions.
“I’ll show everyone how brave I am,” said Edmund. “I’ll show them
how high I can reach.”
One afternoon after school, Edmund stopped by the store. He
bought a simple red flag. He wrote his name in big black letters on
the cloth.
Edmund looked around town. He wanted to plant his flag at the
highest place he could find.
Colored flags were everywhere. Flags were planted atop the wa-
ter tower. Flags marked the hilltop outside town. Flags dangled like
fruit from the branches of trees. Flags decorated the rooftops like
snow.
The surroundings grew darker as Edmund walked. He looked up
at the shadows of the trees. He looked up at the shadows of the roof-
tops. He looked up at the shadow of the hill outside town.
“What is higher than everything else?” the boy asked himself.
He looked above the trees. He looked above the rooftops. He looked
above the hill outside town.
Edmund stared at the full moon in the sky. The moon was higher
than the trees. It was higher than the rooftops. It was higher than
the hill. It was higher than a skyscraper. It was higher than the tall-
est mountain.
Edmund smiled more brightly than all the stars in the sky. He
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skipped all the way home. The moon jingled in his mind like a pol-
ished silver coin.
His mother waited for Edmund at the front porch. “Where did you
go?” she asked her son.
“Exploring,” Edmund answered.
“Did you join the other children in climbing high places?” his
mother asked.
“No, I was just looking at the moon,” the boy said.
His mother smiled. She ushered Edmund inside the house.
The next morning, Edmund went to the balloon shop. He brought
a swollen piggy bank. An old man made the balloons at the bal-
loon shop. He had been making balloons since he was a kid like Ed-
mund.
The boy placed the piggy bank on the counter. “Sir, I want to buy
the biggest balloon in this shop,” Edmund said to the balloon mak-
er.
“I need a big balloon to carry me to the moon,” he added.
“Only astronauts travel to the moon. Do you know what you’re do-
ing?” the balloon maker asked.
“Of course. I want to be the first kid on the moon,” the boy told the
balloon maker.
“That’s nice,” said the balloon maker. He took the piggy bank from
Edmund. He said the balloon would be ready after a week.
19vol. liv no. 2
Edmund returned to the balloon shop after a week. He brought
a backpack with sandwiches inside. He also brought a red flag with
his name written on the cloth.
The balloon maker stood beside the giant balloon. The balloon
was big as a narra tree. The balloon looked like a giant red lollipop.
The balloon was tied to a string. The string was tied to a large rock
on the ground.
The balloon maker tied Edmund securely to the giant balloon. The
boy carried a backpack of sandwiches in one hand and a red flag in
the other.
“Once I untie the string attached to the rock, you’ll fly into the
sky,” said the balloon maker.
“Are you ready?” he asked the boy.
“I’m ready,” Edmund answered.
“Don’t stay up there too long,” the balloon maker said. He untied
the string.
The giant red balloon rose quickly into the air. The old man grew
smaller and smaller until he became tiny as an ant. The houses grew
smaller and smaller until they resembled toy houses.
As the balloon rose into the air, children pointed at the sky. They
pointed at the giant balloon that resembled a red lollipop. Edmund
waved at the children below. They soon grew tired of staring and
pointing at the sky. Edmund frowned when he saw the children ig-
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noring him.
The Earth grew smaller and smaller until it became the size of a
basketball. Edmund looked up. The moon was as big as a bowling
bowl. The surface was gray and had many holes. The surface glowed
with a strange yellow light. His teachers taught Edmund that the
moon borrowed the light of the sun. The moon produced no light of
its own. Seeing the moon glowing with its own light, Edmund felt
proud. He knew something his teachers did not know.
After Edmund landed on the moon, the first thing he did was plant
his flag. “I’m the first boy on the moon,” he said proudly.
Edmund looked at Earth. He looked at his town. Children were
playing outdoors. Their eyes were turned away from the sky. Their
eyes turned away from the moon.
The boy on the moon grew angry. He threw moon pebbles at the
children. After the pebbles hit them, the children looked up at the
sky. They rubbed the places where the pebbles had landed. They fled
inside their houses.
Edmund watched the children go indoors. He removed his flag on
the ground and waved it angrily at everyone on Earth. No one was
looking at the sky. No one saw the young boy on the moon.
Edmund threw his flag into the sky. The red flag drifted away into
outer space.
The boy sat on the ground. He was pouting. “I’m better off without
21vol. liv no. 2
everyone else, Edmund said.
The boy started eating a sandwich from his backpack. The aroma
carried in the wind.
After some time eating, Edmund heard a voice behind him.
“Excuse me, may I please have a sandwich?” asked a strange man.
His skin glowed with the same color as the moon’s surface. He was
wearing funny clothes. On his head was a cap with a knotted tail
that disappeared behind his back. His shirt was made of red silk and
the sleeves reached his wrists. A pair of dragons was embroidered
across each other on his chest. His pants and shoes were black like
outer space. He wore no socks.
“Of course,” said Edmund. He took out another sandwich from his
backpack.
The glowing man smiled. He sat down beside Edmund.
Edmund gave the sandwich to the glowing man. The man’s eyes
were tiny and sharp. His eyes glowed brightly as he at the sand-
wich.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
The glowing man frowned. “It’s strange. It’s been so long since I’ve
talked to another person that I’ve forgotten my name,” he said.
“Do you live here?” Edmund asked.
“Yes but I used to live on Earth,” the glowing man answered.
“Why are you glowing?” the boy asked.
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The glowing man smiled. He said, “I used to have skin like yours
when I lived on Earth. My skin started glowing after I learned to
eat the mushrooms here on the moon. The caves under the surface
are filled with glowing mushrooms. They make the moon glow at
night.”
The man took out the mushrooms from his pockets. The mush-
rooms glowed as brightly as his skin.
“Why are you here?” the glowing man asked Edmund.
Edmund said, “I wanted to be the first kid on the moon. The other
children teased me because I did not climb high places like them. I
wanted to impress all of the children. I brought a flag with my name
and planted it here. It’s gone now. I threw it away. Nobody was look-
ing up here anyway.”
“When are you going back?” the glowing man said.
“I don’t want to. I’m better off without anyone else,” Edmund an-
swered.
The glowing man straightened his posture as he sat on the ground.
He looked toward Earth. There was a faraway look in his eyes that
Edmund found familiar. His mother had the same look in her eyes
whenever she told him about his father.
The glowing man said, “My parents were astronomers. They were
always looking at the stars. I wanted their attention. I flew here to
the moon in a large kite. I wanted them to see me when they looked
2�vol. liv no. 2
through their telescope. I wanted to remain on the moon until my
parents went here to look for me. I waited for a long time. Time
moves differently here on the moon than on Earth. When I went
back to Earth, a long time had passed. My parents were dead. They
stopped looking at the stars when they found out I was missing. They
searched everywhere for me. They kept searching until they died. I
had no family to return to. I decided to go back to the moon and stay
here.”
The glowing man looked at the last piece of his sandwich before
he placed it inside his mouth. He chewed slowly before swallowing.
The lump if sandwich traveled down his throat like a mole descend-
ing deep underground.
“Go back to your family. Don’t make the same mistake I did,” the
glowing man said to Edmund.
The boy nodded. A lump had formed in his throat.
“Before you go, I have a gift for you. Wait for me here,” said the
glowing man. He stood up and left Edmund.
When the glowing man returned, he was carrying a large kite
twice his size. A fire-breathing dragon was painted on the canvas.
The dragon’s skin was covered in emerald-green scales and a pair of
paper antlers poked out from its head. It spread sapphire-blue wings
that became the kite’s body. Fire spewed from its mouth and became
the kite’s tail. The tail was made of diamond-shaped strips colored
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red, yellow, orange and blue.
The colors of the kite danced in Edmund’s eyes. The glowing man
handed the kite to the boy.
“This kite will remind you of me. Keep your feet on the ground
while looking at the stars. Fly high but always return to Earth,” the
glowing man said.
Edmund said thank you. Before he left, he gave the rest of his
sandwiches to the glowing man. He waved at Edmund as the boy
flew into the sky.
It was dark when Edmund landed back on Earth. His mother wait-
ed for him at the front porch of their house. His mother had a wor-
ried look on her face.
She smiled when she saw Edmund. He was carrying a large kite.
She asked her son, “Where did you get such a beautiful kite?”
Edmund answered, “The man on the moon gave it to me.”
“You have such a colorful imagination,” she said and kissed Ed-
mund on the cheek.
“Come inside. Dinner’s ready,” his mother said to Edmund. Mother
and son went inside the house.
After Edmund started flying a kite, the other children stopped
planting flags and joined him in kite-flying. Some kids bought kites
at the store. Others built their own kites using sticks of wood and
colored paper.
25vol. liv no. 2
It was a competition among the children. Every child wanted the
largest and most beautiful kite in town. All of the children wanted
a kite as large and as colorful as Edmund’s. They asked him how he
got such a beautiful kite.
Edmund looked up at sky. It was early in the afternoon. The moon
was nowhere to be seen. Edmund wondered about the man he met
on the moon. Was he looking at the earth right now? Can he see the
beautiful kite I’m flying?
Edmund smiled as he looked up at the sky. He said, “It’s a gift from
the man on the moon.”
29vol. liv no. 2
Camille Pilar
* * *
I awoke early one June morning in 1999 with my forehead stuck to a
cold, clammy window of the Cagsawa Transit Line bound for Legaz-
pi, Albay. The bus was moving at an unsteady speed, alternating be-
tween five-second bursts of hastiness and deliberate drags, potholes
and pebbles slowing us further to a safe crawl. My eyes adjusted to
the unfamiliar scenery that spread flat across the bayan roads, past
Camarines Sur and entering the outskirts of Naga, where dusty green
fields stretched below the horizon before vanishing into a grayish-
The Magayon Woman
M agayon is the Bicolano term for beautiful and
a few years ago, I knew of a beautiful woman.
Today, she is beautiful still.
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blue arch of cloudless sky.
Goats and cows dotted the plains and two punctual farmers did
their daily stretching activity to the side, extending arms up for three
counts, extending forward the next three. This world was much too
quiet. The stillness was new to me for I had never set foot outside
my birthland, a somewhat noisier Cebu, until last night. Mama had
shaken me in my sleep and she dragged my sisters and I to the Mac-
tan airport where we boarded a flight to Manila, only to climb onto
a bus twenty minutes after thick metropolitan smog assaulted our
senses.
The Cagsawa Line’s ancient air conditioner rattled overhead and
drowned the snores and occasional muttering of passengers still
deep in sleep. The blast of chilly air from it smelled moldy because
the stench of yesterday’s vomit was still traceable by the nose. It was
an unnatural morning, and I was misplaced. And soon, I thought, I
would be seeing the Mayon Volcano.
My eyes darted away from the window and scanned the length of
the bus interiors. There was Lola on the seat in front of me, sleeping
with her chin touching her chest, her bony thumb paused over the
bead of the fourth mystery. My two younger sisters from across the
aisle had their heads halfway buried in their oversized jackets. Then I
saw Mama who was wide awake, a glazed, almost ghastly expression
on her face, and she looked directly at me. Suddenly I felt sick.
�1vol. liv no. 2
Lola’s house, we soon found out, had a brick exterior, a sliding door,
a potted garden, and best of all, a huge balcony with a majestic view
of Mayon. My heart throbbed at first sight and the volcano seemed to
throb with it. I stuck my hands into the air hoping to hold the Mayon
on either of its slender sides, or run my fingers across its velvety sur-
face. My eyes melted into the royalty of its blue; not even the sky could
touch it. This was my first encounter with perfection; what else could
this beauty be if not alive.
At lunch, I dodged all the sili on my plate but the laing was deli-
cious. My sisters and I soon forgot about the clumsy meals we had at
the airport and on the bus. In the middle of our meal, Lolo came up
carrying with him our suitcases, followed by the big, brown boxes. I
then remembered why we were here and I burst into tiny sobs unseen
to anyone.
The next few weeks became a parade of introductions: meet Tita
Cion, cousin this, cousin that, all of whose faces had the same wide,
gap-toothed smile and knowing eyes. “Magayunon na mga aki,” they
repeated in crisp and rapid Bicolano and my ears strained to catch
even the slightest meaning out of the foreign sounds. The introduc-
tions continued when Mama enrolled us in the Academia de Sta.
Iñes where she studied as a young girl. In St. Agnes, as the school is
called now, my sisters and I were pinched on the cheeks and kissed
on the forehead by these fast-aging old maids in need of affection
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who I learned later were the same set of young and snobbish teachers
Mama had in her day. You have beautiful girls, they all said.
Every day since, my sisters and I would take on an early commute,
our first time, to St. Agnes, which was thankfully only three blocks
and a bakeshop away. We hired a padyak, this curious and colorful
bicycle with a sidecar attached on the right, to bring all three of us
to school for five pesos. I was dismissed the latest and I had to walk
home alone. When it rained, Lolo would come to pick me up; oth-
erwise, it was just my shadow over the ordinary streets of my new
home.
Adjusting came rather naturally; it was acceptance that bit me
hard. In the mornings, I would delay opening my eyes for a few sec-
onds, hoping that when I do I would be back within the blue walls of
my bedroom in Cebu. There was nothing wrong with Legazpi, this
I admitted, but the boxes—those big, balikbayan boxes—perturbed
me like nothing else. The sight of them in the corner of the bedroom I
shared with Mama contained me, consumed me. They bore a strong
impermanence when they were packed full with things; but a hope-
less destiny when they were emptied which, by the way, they were.
Neatly stacked one on top of the other, there was emptiness after
emptiness.
I would take a good look around the house and see nothing in it
that was mine. Instead, everywhere I saw faded pictures of Mama,
��vol. liv no. 2
her old Nancy Drew Mysteries collection, her set of china dolls, her
first room, her cross-stitched portrait of a cat, and even her Mayon
Volcano. I was moving in a world that revolved around her existence
and hers alone. I was a simple figure in the presence of undeniable
truth because I belonged to her, too.
It was terrifying to see Mama’s world clearly during the day. How-
ever, the most sickening part crept in during the dead weight of night.
In the darkness and silence, which not even crickets dare break, I
could not tell myself apart from Mama’s possessions. It was at night
that I would be welded completely onto her world. My breathing
would become her breathing; my thoughts would somehow become
her thoughts. All the pillows felt like blocks of stone and I hardly ever
fell asleep. I knew that Mama used the nighttime to caress my con-
science. She left Papa and she knew I did not forgive her for that.
Most of all, it was during the night when I missed Papa terribly.
I would think about him: was he asleep at that moment or was he
watching re-runs of “Miami Vice” on tv again? The stone pillows
would soften at the faintest contact with my tears but still the bed
forever groaned in his absence.
In July, a small ash plume formed around the Mayon’s crater and
soon it had started spewing lava, spitting out burning rocks, sending
tiny tremors down the villages by its feet. We felt the earthquakes
in Lola’s house and they grew stronger by the day. One morning, we
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awoke to a loud bang! and the beds shook uncertainly beneath us,
Nancy Drew quivered in the bookshelves, the dishes clattered in the
cabinet and one of them crashed to the floor. The Mayon was no-
where in sight. In its place were monstrous black clouds that clawed
through the sky, the streaks of lava, bloody veins.
Amidst the volcanic unrest was a personal unease welling up in-
side me and I clutched my stomach and ran to the maid’s bathroom,
which was closest. My relatives thought it funny that I had my men-
arche on the same day a volcano erupted and I cursed all of them
under my breath. I felt ridiculed and betrayed but most of all, beaten,
because Mama had embraced me and told me it was nothing to be
ashamed of. I gave her a fierce stare that she returned with kindness.
We did not speak until the week after.
The months fell off the calendar one by one and the daily activities
resumed, schoolwork begun to pile up, and even the Mayon seemed
to have settled into a grumbling rest. Everything was comfortably
back into its niche except for me who never found one. I learned to
speak the native language quite decently and made friends with the
locals but I was still a stranger to my mother.
Months fell off the calendar, days slipped away, each day lost that I
would never regain, and before I even got to unpack myself into this
home, Graduation Day was over and I was hurriedly folding clothes
and wrapping belongings into suitcases and boxes once more. A year
�5vol. liv no. 2
had passed so quickly. Papa had come to take me back to Cebu. I
noticed that he had aged reasonably since the last time I saw him;
untidy stubble rested on his chin and his cheeks looked unwashed,
pointy and sullen. I wrote Lolo and Lola a letter of gratitude and I
embraced them for the first time before I left. Lola made sure to stick
her rosary in my pocket.
The last morning I spent in Legazpi was exactly the same as the
day we first arrived—dusty green fields and grayish-blue sky. I kissed
my sisters goodbye and promised to write them from week to week so
they could practice their reading. I glanced at my mother, who I saw
for the first time without careful make-up, but she looked away and
we spoke no words, not a whimper, not a sigh. She was sleepy and was
devoid of the cheerfulness she wore around my sisters and the sight
of her yawning stung my chest.
I clambered into the front seat of the white Sentra Papa had leased
as the rest of my baggage was loaded in the trunk. Soon all doors
were shut and the car engine grunted to life. I did not roll the window
down and since then, I never looked back. When the sun would rise
tomorrow, not even the islands would cover the distance between
Mama and I.
I fell asleep and woke up two hours later and the view outside was
smeared and indistinct at about 60 miles per hour. Papa was whis-
tling a tune as he steered the wheel calmly and he greeted me a good
morning. Surprise struck my body full force and I swerved around,
craning my neck as far as I could, but the Mayon Volcano was no-
where to be found.
�9vol. liv no. 2
Art Editorial
dults are often fascinated with children’s imagina-
tions because their thoughts are not often “rational”.
We are amused with the depth of their imagination
and creativity in terms of how they knit fantasy with reality; as we
would often hear them say that pregnant women swallowed balls
that would eventually turn into babies, and that fishes don’t drown
because of bubbles made by mermaids. These are things children
think of to make rational a seemingly irrational world.
Dwelling on the theme All Lies in Wonderment, the art gallery of
this issue tries to be nostalgic and to bring back the child in all of us
who is longing to speculate once more. Our need to fill in the gaps
using our wild imaginations makes us see the world in a different
light, sometimes veering away from logic while at other still com-
promising with reality. The drive to wonder is often fueled with the
curiosity with the unknown as what the artwork of Mercado sug-
gests. Upon seeing the mysterious, we are faced with the dilemma of
satisfying our curiosity or abide by the rules of society and remain
A
40 heights
still. Ruaro’s artwork tells us that in some occasions, our childlike
imagination convinces us that the fairy tales we hear or read are
true and the characters would even visit us in the most unexpected
times. Intal’s digital work on how sometimes our astonishment is
brought about by artificial means and because of shock, we tend
to let reality fade away and see everything as magical. The eye sees
what it wants to see, as the saying goes.
Experiences of wonderment could be vicarious. As legends are
passed to us by our elders from their journeys and childhood, our
minds begin to welcome new thoughts we never thought could ex-
ist, though these things don’t essentially have to be good ones. As
seen in Wong’s artwork, stories from elders can both be amusing
and foreboding, giving us words of caution.
The theme can also be associated with fantasy, on the realm of
magic. The rendering of San Pedro’s work, basing the subject and
format on a famous fairy tale puts Alice into the modern and yet
another world of enchantment. But these experiences do not exist
in tales alone. Bartolome’s drawing gives us the mood of dreams,
of how the world seems to bend and give us wings to explore the
breadth of imagination.
As the artwork of Javier says, being near someone special, the un-
certainty of the moment between whispering lovers asking “what’s
going to happen next,” can truly be thrilling. But anticipating what’s
41vol. liv no. 2
going to happen next can also be tormenting, like thinking about
our lives in the aftermath of a storm. Alvarez sympathizes with the
victims of Albay through his work and joins them in asking why.
In general, the theme for this folio is very light and refreshing. This
gallery is a celebration of the lost, or to put it sharply, the sleeping
childlike perspective of the world.
J Paul Marasigan Art Editor February 2007
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Migs MercadoDown the Rabbit HoleWatercolor on Board and Digital9�.98 x 152.40 cm (72 dpi)2007
51vol. liv no. 2
Maurice WongTraveler’s Tales
Charcoal and Chalk Pastels on Paper21.59 x 22.86 cm
2007
55vol. liv no. 2
Pancho Alvarezii ab Political Science
Nature’s left hand has been released transforming bodies into tormented souls that wander the earth searching for justice with the chilling reality of Reming deeply imprinted within their sensitive entity. In their search, may they find light and may their spirits finally rest in peace.
Louise Andrea Bacoyiv bfa Creative Writing
wonders what the hell Peter O’Toole should do for him to win an Academy Award.
John Santy Calalayiv bfa Creative Writing
“20 years a writer. 20 years of non-glamourous.”
Kim Darby Bartolomev bs Electronics and Communications Engineering
It’s time to go. —ece Wireless logistics group ’07 aka bucol Inc.
Miguel EscañoManagement, major in Communications Technology Management ’02English Department
has learned a lifetime’s worth from his students.
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Noelle Alana Intalii ab Management Economics
Is there a limit to imagination?
Thanks to Marion of nighty-stock, spiritsighs-stock and the photobreed team for stock used.
Eliana Laurice Javierii ab Economics
You are a child of the universeNo less than the trees and the starsYou have a right to be here
Julio Benigno Julongbayani ab History
Alam mo ang aking pangalanAlam mo ang aking itsuraNgunitKilala mo baAko?
John Paul Marasigan iii bfa Information Design
Sining ang aking asawa. Disenyo ang aking kerida.
57vol. liv no. 2
Miguel Mercadoi ab Interdisciplinary Studies
Follow the white rabbit.
Camille Kimberly Pilariii ab Communication
Camille is an ab Communication major with a minor in English Literature. She once wanted to become an astronaut.
Joanna Victoria Ruaroiii ab European Studies
This is for Jerome who always believed and supported me!Ü You are my happy thought!
Danielle San Pedroiii ab European Studies
This is a glitch in the system.
58 heights
Ali Sangalangii ab Interdisciplinary Studies
Salamat kina Mars, Anne, Brandz, Ginoong Brion, at kay Erika.
Unang nakilala bilang matinik na kuwentista si Ali bago sineryoso anng dibdibang pagtutula at pagiging makata. Nagsimula siyang sumulat noong dekada nobenta, sumubok mag-ambag sa komiks, naglakas loob mag-audition sa Willie of Fortune, magpinta ng mmda art, krumopeck sa Zakuska, makipaglabing-labing sa tricycle na may kurtina, tumikim ng Buena bonita buy-one-take-one, mag- “water na lang” sa Bo’s, mangolekta ng libreng cr ticket sa Promenade, ma-adik sa minesweeper, magpatuyo ng kili-kili sa Loyola Bookstore, mabuwisit sa paulit-ulit na theme song ng pcsd, magparefill ng magparefill ng Tang hanggang mapa—“Tang I** ikaw na naman!?!” na si ate, jumaywalk at jumingle sa edsa, maging Citizen Patrol, hanggang hiranging patnugot ng Buy & Sell magazine kamakailan.
Sa kasalukuyan, patuloy siyang nananaginip at umaasang buhay pa si Tupac.
Maurice Wongii bs Chemistry - Material Science Engineering
Dreams are made winding through my head. —System of a Down, Spiders
59vol. liv no. 2
Acknowledgments
Fr. Bienvenido F. Nebres, s.j. and the Office of the PresidentDr. Maria Assunta Cuyegkeng and the Office of the Vice President for the Loyola SchoolsMs. Miriam de los Santos and the Office of Student ActivitiesMs. Karen B. Cardenas and the Office of Research and PublicationsMr. Rene San Andres and the Office of the Associate Dean for Student AffairsMs. Lourdes Sumpaico, Ms. Kat Faustino, and the Office of Administrative ServicesMs. Elizabeth Aquino of the Central Accounting Office and the Purchasing OfficeDr. Leovino Ma. Garcia, Ms. Angeli Tugado, and the Office of the Dean, School of HumanitiesDr. Maria Luz Vilches and the Department of EnglishMs. Corazon Lalu-Santos and the Department of FilipinoFr. Rene Javellana, s.j. and Mr. Xander Soriano of the Fine Arts ProgramDr. Benilda Santos and the Ateneo Institute of Literary Arts and PracticesMr. Danilo Reyes and Mr. Alvin Yapan for being part of the Heights Writing SeminarMr. Rodolfo Alayban and the University ArchivesMr. Rodney Cordova and the Matteo Ricci StaffMs. Christine Bellen, Mr. Gino Bagsit, Fr. Nick Cruz, Mr. Andrew Ty, and Mr. Alfred Yuson for facilitating the Creative TalksCompany of Ateneo Dancers for performing during the launch of Volume liv Number 1Ateneo Association for Communications Technology Management and amp for being part of SerenataAteneo Special Education Society for being part of the Art Charity
60 heights
WorkshopMs. Rhodora Violan and Midtown Printing Co., Inc.Evita Veronica Guinto and The GuidonJoseph Edward Alegado and MatanglawinSiddharta Perez and LitSocThe Gonzaga Hall maintenance personnelHigh Chair, up Writers Club, and dlsu Malate Literary FolioAnd to all those who continually support Heights projects and to those who submit their works.
DividersPancho AlvarezJPaul Marasigan
61vol. liv no. 2
Editor-in-ChiefAssociate Editor
Managing Editor
English EditorAssociate English Editor
Filipino EditorAssociate Filipino Editor
Art Editor
Internal Secretary-GeneralExternal Secretary-General
Special Projects Manager
Business Manager
Moderator
Audrey Phylicia N. TrinidadLouise Andrea S. BacoyAnne Kimberley C. Ong
Louise Andrea S. BacoyFidelis Angela C. TanGeriandre M. PiqueroKevin Bryan E. MarinJohn Paul F. Marasigan
Cherie Ann T. LoJoanna Victoria D. RuaroYasha Bianca G. Barretto
Jose Edru T. Urcia
Edgar Calabia Samar
Editorial Board2006 - 2007
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Santy Calalay . Marguerite de Leon . Meriam Esmenda Antonio Habana . Arkaye Kierulf . Marie La ViñaMadeline Ong . April Sescon . Martin VillanuevaTimothy Villarica
Lester Abuel . Victor Anastacio . Karen BrillantesAnne Calma . Twinkle De Los Reyes . Brandz Dollente Chuck Marin . Jason Tabinas . RG TanchangcoRoselle Tugade . Chester Valdellon
Pancho Alvarez . Kim Bartolome . Elie JavierMigs Mercado . Danie San Pedro . Mau Wong
Katrina Alvarez . Garet Garcia . Stef MacamFidel Pamintuan . Earl Perlas
Jay Alim . Francis de Guzman . Alex JhocsonMaria Karaan . Jac Ledonio . JL Limsico . Petra Magno Jonats Pascual . Mikes Quijano . Jomel SalasDanie San Pedro
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