Nothing Lasts


Ang bituon mo
ginasilip sa ngit-ngit—
akong kahayag.

Sa'yong pag-ibig
ako'y nahuhulog na—
aray! Huhuhu.

Magkinaunsa, Kinausa


Magkinaunsa, kinausa.

(Whatever happens, we stay as one.)

Unusual Case of Pregnancy


IT was when she heard about ‘Nong Cayog that Dr. Janet Ypil, an obstetrician, once again felt hopeful that she did not have to stay barren her entire life.
            It was her friend Hanilyn who told her about him. When Hanilyn went to her for an ultrasound, Dr. Ypil could just laugh in disbelief. A year ago, Hanilyn was infertile too and Dr. Ypil’s four years in medical school told her she was not mistaken, but right on the screen was an image of a developing male fetus she was conceiving.
            “I went to ‘Nong Cayog,” said Hanilyn. “He’s an albularyo.”
            “Albularyo?” Dr. Ypil asked.
            She had tried everything. At least everything obstetricians like her do not normally try. She had taken fertility drugs, hoping everything was caused by hormonal problems. She had gone to several chapels kneeling and praying in front of the icons of different saints. She had forced herself to dance during an infertility festival in Obando. But nothing happened. She was still barren. They could’ve opted for Intracytoplasmic Sperm Injections if only it were not too expensive. But she had never consulted an albularyo before.

Beneath the Streetlights of Tionko


As the sun sets and the shadows of the buildings and establishments in the city grow larger, so is the arrival of girls and young women dressed in skimpy shorts and tight tank tops standing on the side of the streets of Davao City particularly Tionko Avenue, the street at the side of Central Bank of the Philippines. They seemed to be waiting for something or for someone. It had been a common knowledge shared quietly by the Dabawenyos that come nightfall girls and women in prostitution lurk the dark streets of Tionko.



3:14 am

Pagkahuman sa istorya kay Tricia about dyslexia, Redtube, and laziness being a virtue, nag-decide ko nga hipuson ang akong duyan.

Samtang ginahubad nako ang mga hikot sa duyan ug gina-arrange akong mga things, a thought pops out. A warrior must not leave a trace.

Alanganin na itulog, mupasi nalang ko.

"Sure ka?" ingon ni Brylle.

"Unsa gani to sa Panabi... 'daghang nangawala.' " Gikatlan siya sa iyahang wala nga mata.

"Ingat," pahimangno ni Tricia. Gipikpik nako ang ilahang abaga bag-o nilakaw.

Sa unahan, tulo ka dalan nag-converge.


Augustine Paredes x fusr x payat




carry the children of your past
you cuddle in your slumber
—monsters, they are
we see, they are
you hope that I:
birth you swords and armor
cold water,
silver, salt, garlic
warmwarm blankets and a crucifix;
when you thrist for happiness—
I am bursting with your fantasies
biggerbetterbolder in your dreams
than bedside beside you.


pen on paper, Keso
text, Anna Miguel

Kipil and Paksiw for Mamay


My first memory of Tupi, South Cotabato was of a small room beside the kitchen of the old ancestral house. The kids were not allowed to play or make noises near the room where my grandfather Sotero, lived. The only time we would enter during visits was when we would mano upon arriving in the house and to mano again before we leave for home. Sotero was my mother’s father and the only grandparent I had the chance to touch, talk to, and serve meals for. My other grandparents died before I was born. We call Sotero Mamay because he was from Batangas and that was how grandchildren there called their grandfathers.

After World War 2, Mamay, together with my grandmother's family, decided to move south to Mindanao where apparently things were safer and progress was more feasible than up in Luzon. Mamay was in his 20's when they moved south. Back then, accumulation of land properties was easier and needed less legal processes. My grandfather found a land in South Cotabato just beside Dole Philippine's pineapple plantation. During his time, hectares and hectares of vacant agricultural lands were there for the taking, no one owns them except a handful of huge companies including Dole Philippines.

The land he discovered looked more like a jungle compared to its neighboring pineapple plantation. He decided to clean the entire 18-hectare land with the help of his family. They cultivated the land, cut off unnecessary vines, and planted vegetables with their own bare hands. By simply cleaning the entire area that no one owned, it was implied Mamay was taking possession of it. It was that easy back then. But Dole Philippines saw how much potential the cleaned area had for their business, so they decided to plant pineapples on some specific areas that Mamay cleaned. They did that several times.

True/False Hopes (NSFW)



I want to hear you between my thighs.

Cheap Thrill (NSFW)


thumping, the only sound
do not come from our mouths:
this primordial song


Photos, CHEAP THRILL (set; four of eleven) by Jahre Criste (IG: @moncriste)
Text by Anna Miguel



   ease into the noise.
   slip through the crevices of mastication.

holdontothe                                                                                                          words, words, words.

(what remains are the told, set against the untold.)



Come a fortnight of great coincidences and unnerving cosmic significance. Of a thousand piece puzzle coming together like a Byzantine mosaic or a trail set ablaze by a night sky of shooting stars.

Her heart is an adorned catacomb. It is an unawakened spectacle of turbulent potential energy: immobile and unmoving.

But she is oil and youwater.

Old Wounds #1


We were running too fast for anyone to see. Too fast for our own good. Until our souls ran out, and the tread marks skidded past us.


4" x 4" acrylic and recycled paper on canvas, Old Wounds #1 by Jonee Jabez
Text Anonymous

Pieta Reverses



visual poetry by ISDA

** click photo and open image in new tab to view in high resolution



Thoughts of you are butterflies flapping thither and hither in the thin air of my mind. Directionless, these thoughts flap its wings thoughtlessly until they are caught up by the woven nets of my momentary attention, just four to five seconds above and it’s gone, like listless tiny bubbles on the ebbing surface of the sea. Plopping together, or one by one – plop! Plop! In an instant, gone.  They go unheard of, unnoticed, barely there, but, until they join the huge deep blues, and once again, again, in a million times, turn to thoughts like butterflies diving thither and hither the thin air of my mind.

You are, in essence, a butterfly I entertain once in a while. 


Watercolor by  CY
Prose by  CY

© The Panagtagbo. Base codes by Fearne. Tweaks by AMC