*To Jackie, Maria, and every children of immigrants birthed with a Purpose* how do I live like my life is my own?I must care for the generations before me unbothered and detached is a luxurythe few of us feel too responsible to cherish I don’t envy you, maybe a littlebut how could I ever walk away? I fail if the duties that my ancestorspassed to me linger without manifestation. after…

BY: B.R.G. MARAYA

If its the matter of coming back,

Until we reached the limits of times.

Loud sound of old ticking time was crack,

Memories are shattered, moments shines.

The universe and planets are mines,

Finding the roots of a hundred wars.

Loosing a minute of our time,

Behind a smile, there’s a hidden scars.

The old style of dazzling mode cars,

Behind the secret of fearful past.

The roots of misunderstanding roars,

Spell and curses are begging to cast.

In the successor of the burn light,

BY: B.R.G. MARAYA

Our future is in our hands.

I wonder what will be my future?

I want to become a teacher someday.

It is in my action and decision whether my future will be good or bad.

What I’m doing now will  affect my future.

It depends on what I’m doing now in the present.

I wish in the future I achieve my goals.

I need to work hard so my future will be bright.

I’ll always think about the future with smile on my face.

I’m scared of what will happen in the future.

I’m not ready to see the future.

BY :  M.R.C. LACSON

I’m not born in love with pen and paper, I don’t even have an idea that I am capable of writing. All I know about myself is this, when I enjoy doing one thing I embrace it and improve myself in all aspects I can.

 When I turned twelve I discovered this application called Wattpad, it’s an e-book application that allows you to read different genres of books. Out of curiosity, I tried to write stories but my creative juices said “No”. I’m probably just a reader who can imagine but I can’t write. So I stopped writing and I told myself not to write stories for my writing imagination is chaotic.

 Until I turned fourteen all I did was read stories. I’m not really interested in writing. Essays that are for academic purposes and short stories are the only literary pieces I write. And I’m writing those because it is a requirement, I don’t write because I want to, I write because I need to.

 Until the day where our teacher required us to write a poem. I panicked, I really did. Because I don’t have an idea on how to write a poem. I mean, for a person like me? who promised not to write literary pieces? but I don’t have a choice, it’s a requirement and I need a grade. I thought it’ll be hard, but to my surprise, I finished my poem and survived.

  And I did not expect that a poetry writing activity will be the reason for me to change my perspective about literature.

Maybe stories and fictional writing isn’t for me, but poetry writing on the other hand? I finally found my forte.

 At the age of fifteen, I found myself being interested in

 poetry already, I read, watch, and even write poems. Of course, my poems at first are sloppy but as years pass by I learned to improve my works. The medium language I use, the genre, and the theme of my poems changed.

 As I age, my poems improve. From being an individual not interested in writing, I turned into someone who uses writing as an escape from thoughts. It became my voice when I can’t say what I feel, it became my comrade and companion when I’m alone. And most of all it became my medium of releasing the pain.

 I’m now 18, I write poems and learned to write other literary works too. My improvements may not be as big as other writers have improved, but the small pace of steps

are still considered as an improvement.

 I sometimes write with a cup of coffee in my hand, or tears in my eyes. I sometimes find myself writing together with the heavy drops of the rain or the beautiful shine of the sun.

I write my emotions together with nature.

 From being a writer who used to be drowned in the current and deep ocean of thoughts as I write. I learned to swim not against the waves but to swim with it, I learned to be one with the waves and finally found my path.

 I may not be an author who produces books, but I am still a writer. And I will continuously write until my ink wears out. I am a writer who aims to inspire lost writers like me. Lost writers that can’t still find what they are capable of in this industry.

  I write because I aspire to inspire people, I write to escape this painful world,

As I extend a hand for a proper greeting I must simultaneously warn you of the dangers that lurk in my mind that I shall refer to as my Galaxy. See, during my birth no one handed me the "Terms & Conditions of Life," therefore the exact road taken to where I am today may seem, spontaneous. Though I am one to not dwell on the past I cannot help but thank my past trials and tribulations for their insights and revelations. 

The stories you will soon undergo reading are just that stories. Take them for what you may. Creative writings. Life lessons. Unforgiving tragedies whose blade more precise than a guillotine. The matter of truth or falsehood shall never be given, I leave that for the reader to decide. All I ask is that appreciation be your humble host and constructive criticism be the tip you leave at the door. As I continue to grow I would hope for my tip jar to do the same. How can a problem be fixed if never brought to the attention of the one who can fix it? Simple enough yes, but the simple instructions are the ones most often broken.