28年 10月 16日, 日




This Sunday was still eventful despite the lack of electricity and water. It was surprising because I thought that here, you will always have these utilities available 24/7. At least, I have bathed early in the morning. I charged all my devices last night, turning off everything (faucet tightly shut, airconditioner totally off) so that I will not feel guilty. Notices were everywhere. The scariest message was about paying for the cost of repairs just because I did not turn off something properly.

I don’t have any plans of going beyond the area because I only have money to last me for a week. I guess nothing changed. So I went to the store nearest to the university, probably a kilometer far. I wanted to walk that length, besides, the traffic situation here is not as hostile as where I came from.



I have always neglected the fact that I am in another latitude of the world now, and the sun burns differently here. The weather might be windy and cold, but they said that the sun dries the skin to a toast. Three years ago, I bought a big bottle of skin moisturizer, which was unfortunately confiscated when I hand-carried it to the airport.

The tropical boy has been frying in his own oil. I have never felt this oily since I was in my high school freshman year. So bad that when I always buy fried chicken, I feel like my face will be covered with fried chicken oil the morning after.



September at the Summit, 7th Floor


  1. A year changes even the same space. Here is elusive to pin on a map, a graph. A compass an inkless pen pointing north. Writing is a navigation.
  2. 305: The number remains at the door frame, painted in white. The big blue mug, the cold mango juice. Thin body covered in a thick blanket.
  3. Residence is a place to stay. Make the bed, pillows upright against the wall. Sit back. Dream about flying away. What is a chronicle of carelessness?
  4. 203: The sound of roommates screaming at each other to cooperate in a game. Outside, the city sleeps at midnight with the neon and streetlights on. Fog blanketing homes inspired a poem. A new semester means a new foreigner.
  5. How do you say goodbye? In my native tongue, it meant letting it be known. Asking permission. But really, remembering. Paalam.
  6. 105/118: Knowing it’s noon if the bells toll fifty meters away. The mirror and the clothes telling the obvious truths. The missing leche flan. Alone yet with three empty beds. Monthly reminder that you, like everyone who come and go, are a transient.
  7. Nobody is stranger. Everyone is a companion. Every Sunday mass sharing the same bread. Come night, a resident is a node in a network, sharing files sourced from outside. We are what we celebrate in a feast.
  8. 713: I remember: the Summit at the 7th Floor, the Edge of Glory. I felt the weight of all the things I own, the earthquake at 10 PM, the floor flooded with muddied water, the fear of being hit by lightning. Yet, I felt hundreds of suns I saw set but not rise, the impermanent moon glow, the warmth of being under a roof on high altitude, not being alone anymore.
  9. Be home: stop and occupy this space. You may remove yourself from here. If people remember you, you always remain. You become home.

“When are you leaving?”
By the end of September.

from ん, 2015 年 9 月 20日



How come the night is no thief—
the throne bejeweled by marbled

walls, onyx shingles, spirited well,
still spared from all nightmares?

From the station, from afar, from
the point of still dreaming

hear the egret slowly fanning
the sounds of the syllabary.

The raven sits still, probably
listening. My throat thrums.

We both fly away. A year passes
against the fish-fireproofed roof.

There were no castles on my island,
only palaces made of coconut and

pounded seashells.  The sun never
sets yet how come here


from ん, 2015 年 9 月 19日


Ano ang gusto mong maging?
Magsuot ka ng terno. Isilid

ang sarili sa malawak na musoleo
ng opisina. Mag-asam ng mataas

na suweldo na singtaas nitong gusaling
bakal at salamin, na sa malapitan

kinakalawang pala at inaagiw. Ngalayin
ang mga paang nagsusumikip

sa pudpod na sapatos. Magpauli-uli
sa kalalakad. Ni hindi man lang makalipad

tulad ng mga anak ng kapitbahay
na kung anu-ano ang mga pamagat

at lisensya at kung saan-saang
sulok ng mundo nababalitaan

ang sikat na ngalan. Hanggang nandito ka
lalong hanggang dito ka na lang

sa katahimikan ng basta wala kayong
masasabi sa akin
, buka ng tuyo mong bibig.

Dito, malamig na impiyerno ng mga problemang
idinisenyong hindi basta masasagot ng tama

o mali, mali na naman, kaya uulitin
sa simula. Ano ba talaga ang gusto mo

maging? Kaya di ka muna mangangarap
hanggang di ka pa tapos sa mga gawa

na dapat para kahapon. Sa pagod, bukas
na lang itatambak lahat. Bukas na lang

kumain. Saka na ang saya. Kulang pa
ang upa, kulang pa sa balik-taya

ng higit isang dekada ng matrikula
at hinayang sa hindi pagiging una.

Kaya kuwentahin natin ang utang
na loob na tatanawin mo hanggang

matapos ka. Suliranin maging sarili
nananaginip na sa bangungot lalagutin.


Manufacturing Procedures I

Let’s go. We have rehearsals. Can’t sing? Can’t dance? Here. Have these books. Know the math. Speak English. Memorize what happened in the whole damn world history. More especially this country: remember how many we are here? Well, you are off on the last three digits. Where did you read that? Practice violin, flute, guitar, piano. Can’t read notes? Then write. Grammar and spelling must be flawless. But keep it consistent and coherent. Nobody wants to read trash. You must be the best out there. But for now you won’t leave the house. Not until your report card only knows As and nothing else. O, how do you write the hexadecimal A in binary? So what’s that in octal? Simple, right? Now compare all of these sorting algorithms. What is the most efficient? What makes you think you will sleep tonight? How come you do not know how to write in Kanji yet? The resume is different from curriculum vitae. No, you won’t fill up a biodata. Disgusting. What makes you think you can get away with this? What will our neighbors say when you don’t graduate with Latin honors?  Write the most wonderful, tearjerker, viral piece of valedictory address the world has yet to see. Imagine that moment when your voice on the microphone drowns in a sea of a thousand hands applauding.