ultrahellodear-blog

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Double Attachments

Scene 1

 Sunset. Basketball court. There is a basketball ring at the center, bleachers at both sides of the ring, and a tumbler, a towel, and a bag below the ring. In the entrance, footsteps are heard.

 VINCENT stands in front of the basketball ring and shoots the ball. LEVI enters on the left side with his girlfriend, NOREEN.

 LEVI

(cheerful)

Nice shot, tol! We are on our way home. You can join us if you want. Are you done already?

 NOREEN

(worried)

Yeah, it’s getting late. My stepmom will get mad—

 VINCENT

(exhaust)

And that’s because of LEVI. Wait for me. I’ll get my things first.

 VINCENT gets his tumbler, towel, and bag while carrying the ball. VINCENT walks toward LEVI and NOREEN.

 VINCENT

(softly)

Ahm, by the way, have you already told NOREEN about our flight next week?

 NOREEN

(angrily)

What? You’re leaving? You never mentioned anything!

 NOREEN exits angrily on the right.

 LEVI

(loudly)

Babe, wait! VINCENT look what you’ve done!

 LEVI follows NOREEN on the right.

 VINCENT

(Shouts)

Wait, LEVI!

 VINCENT follows LEVI and NOREEN on the right.

 Scene 2

 Morning. Ninoy Aquino International Airport. There is a crowd scattered on the stage.

 VINCENT and LEVI enter on the right holding their luggage and stop at the center facing the audience.

 VINCENT

(softly)

Hey, did you already talk to NOREEN? I’m sorry about what happened.

LEVI

(upset)

Don’t worry, I sent her a letter about our flight. Let’s just not talk about it.

 ANNOUNCER

(calmly)

The flight from Manila to England will leave in an hour. All passengers, please board your plane.

 VINCENT and LEVI exit on the left side of the stage.

 Scene 3

 Morning. NOREEN’s house. Living room. There are three sofas at the center: one facing the audience and two facing parallel at each other. Moreover, a table rests at the center faced by the three sofas.

 LISA, stepmom of NOREEN, stands in front of the sofa and reads the farewell letter from LEVI.

 LISA

(annoyed)

“Dear Noreen, I’m sorry” — This man, again! Why can’t he understand that I don’t want him for NOREEN!

 LISA tears the letter into pieces then sits on the sofa.

 Scene 4

 Afternoon. NOREEN’s bedroom. There is a bed at the center, a desk and a lampshade at the right.

 NOREEN enters on the right and slams the door.

 NOREEN

(angry)

I hate him! Why didn’t he even send me a message?

 NOREEN lies on the bed and cries heavily.

 Scene 5

 Evening. Backyard. Fences are surrounding the stage and a tin trashcan at the center.

 LISA enters on the right holding the letters she hid from NOREEN and stops beside the tin trashcan.

 LISA

(annoyed)

Sorry, honey. I have to do this for your own sake. You will not have a better future with that bastard. This is the only way.

 LISA throws the letters in the tin trashcan. LISA picks a lighter from her pocket, lits the trashcan on fire, and exits on the right.

 Scene 6

 Morning. The University of London. Football field. There is a net on the right side and bleachers at the center facing the audience.

  AVA enters on the left, sits on the bleachers, and reads a book. VINCENT enters on the right side and walks towards AVA.

 VINCENT

(softly)

Is that John Green’s?

 AVA

(shy and softly)

Oh! Yes, he’s one of my favorites.

 VINCENT

(cheerful)

Mind if I sit beside you? By the way, my name’s VINCENT. How ‘bout yours?

 AVA

(shy and softly)

AVA.

 Scene 7

 Morning. The University of London. Hallway. Lockers aligned in the center. There’s a group of students chatting on the right side.

 VINCENT stands in front of his locker on the right.

LEVI enters on the left.

 LEVI

(cheerful)

Hey, man! Did you miss me?! We have been occupied with school lately, huh?

 VINCENT

(shocks)

Hey, man! How you’ve been? You, sure, are right. I did miss you. I have lots to tell you. Come with me to the cafeteria, we have a lot of catching up to do.

 VINCENT and LEVI exit on the left.

 Scene 8

 Cafeteria. There are multiple tables with four chairs each on the stage. On the right side, there is a counter facing the audience.

LEVI and VINCENT enter on the left and sits on the center table.

 VINCENT

(excited)

Bro, England was amazing and the school here is stressful. However, I have some good news to tell you.

 AVA enters on the left. LEVI stares at AVA as VINCENT continues to speak.

 VINCENT

(happy)

I saw this beautiful lady here at the university. Last night, I finally asked her out. I think she likes me too.

 LEVI

(happy)

Oh, really? Great!

 VINCENT

(cheerful)

There she is!

 LEVI and VINCENT both stare at AVA.

AVA walks towards VINCENT and LEVI and stops at their table.

 AVA

(cheerful)

Hello, VINCE! Tonight, at 8 P.M. don’t forget!

 VINCENT

(softly)

Yes, of course. By the way, this is my friend, LEVI.

 AVA

(cheerful)

Oh, hi, LEVI!

 AVA and LEVI shake hands.

 Scene 9

 Evening. Outside the restaurant. The stage is wet with a rainy ambiance.

VINCENT and AVA stands parallel to each other.

 AVA

(happy)

Thank you for tonight, I really enjoyed it. Don’t bother accompanying me on my way home. I can handle myself.

 VINCENT (worried)

Okay, sure. Just message me as soon as you get home.

 AVA exits on the left and VINCENT exits on the right.

 Scene 10

 Evening. Dark street. One lit lamppost at the center backstage.

 AVA enters on the right side and stops in the middle. LEVI followed AVA behind with silent footsteps.

LEVI grabs AVA’s arm.

AVA

(Surprised)

Oh gosh, you surprised me. Are you heading home?

 LEVI

(softly)

Yeah, It’s really dark here. Let me accompany you.

 AVA and LEVI exit on the left

 Scene 11

 Midnight. Bedroom. There’s a bed at the center, a desk on its the right, and a lampshade and a phone on the top of the desk.

AVA sits on her bed.

 Phone rings are heard.

 AVA gets the phone

 AVA

(confused)

7 missed calls!? In the middle of the night?

AVA calls LEVI on the phone

 AVA

(worried)

Hello, Levi? Is there something wrong? Let’s just talk about it tomorrow, okay? It’s already late, goodnight!

 AVA puts down her phone and sleeps.

Scene 12

 Morning. Outside the house of AVA. There’s a gate on the right, trees aligned at the center, and light post on the left.

 AVA enters on the right.

LEVI  enters on the left after AVA.

 AVA

(shocked)

Oh? Levi? You’re here, again?

 LEVI

(stuttered)

Uhm, I was just passing by. Are you on your way to school? Can I come with you?

 AVA

(softly)

Uh, yeah.

Scene 13

Afternoon. School canteen. There are multiple tables and chairs at the center. A counter on the left. Group of people eating on the right.

VINCENT sits on the center-most table, AVA enters on the right side and approach VINCENT.

 AVA

(poker face)

Sorry, I’m late. I just finished some stuff.

 VINCENT

(smile)

It’s fine, you look unwell. Is there something wrong?

 AVA

(frightened)

It’s about LEVI.

 LEVI enters on the right and approaches AVA and VINCENT.

 LEVI

(happy)

Hey, can I join you?

 VINCENT

(cheerful)

Sure, LEVI. Oh, AVA what is it again?

 AVA

(uncomfortable)

Um.

 VINCENT

(in a hurry)

Wait, excuse me. I have to take this call first.

 VINCENT stands and walks to the right.

AVA

(serious)

Hey, LEVI. Don’t get offended but I feel like you’re always following me and I think VINCENT must know this.

 LEVI

(softly)

So you found out about it already, huh?

 AVA

(angry)

What do you mean?

 LEVI

(unhesitant)

I really like you and you know if you like someone, you’ll find ways to make them like you back.

 AVA

(mad)

Are you out of your mind? That’s not right LEVI, you’re making me feel uncomfortable. And what kind of best friend are you to VINCENT?

 VINCENT enters on the right and gets back to his seat.

 VINCENT

(worried)

What’s the matter? Is anything wrong?

 AVA

(pissed off)

Ask your so-called best friend?

 VINCENT

(angry)

What the hell, LEVI!? What did you do?

 LEVI

(proud)

Isn’t it obvious? I want her. You always get everything you wanted, it’s kind of unfair on my behalf. I want something for myself, too.

 VINCENT stands from his chair violently.

 VINCENT

(pleads)

This isn’t you, LEVI. Are you even aware of what you’re doing? We’ve been friends since we’re young. All these will go to waste if you’ll spend your time on this stuff. You have someone waiting for you in the Philippines—NOREEN. Have you forgotten about her? I’m always focused on my career, never felt love before. This is my first time and maybe the last to find someone to love. Wake up! Work that kindness within you!

 AVA stands.

AVA

(Shouts)

Stop! You two, stop this!

 LEVI stands as well.

 LEVI

(upset)

I’m sorry. My emotions got ahead of me. You two looked perfect together, and I saw AVA as an ideal girlfriend. So when I was given a chance, I took advantage of it. You two can enjoy the rest of the day, I’ll get going. I think, I’ll go back and work things out with NOREEN.

 VINCENT

(softly)

I hope this would serve as a lesson to you. I’m sorry, things went rough for you. I failed to be the friend you deserve. 

 LEVI exits on the right.

 Scene 12

Morning. NAIA. People are scattered on stage.

 LEVI enters on the right and stops at the center facing the audience.

 LEVI

(excited)

Here I come, NOREEN. I’ll fix what is needed to be fixed.

LEVI exits on the left.

 Scene 13

 Afternoon. NOREEN’s house. Living room. There are three sofas at the center: one facing the audience and two facing parallel at each other. Moreover, a table rests at the center faced by the three sofas. Knocks are heard.

NOREEN opens the door on the right. LEVI enters carrying a bouquet of flowers and chocolates.

 LEVI

(cheerful)

Hey, it’s been a while.

 NOREEN

(shocked)

What are you doing here!?

 LEVI

(upset)

You never replied to my letters.

 NOREEN

(confused)

What letters?

 LEVI

(confused)

You never saw them?

 NOREEN

(disappointed)

No, not even once. I think this has something to do with my stepmom.

 LEVI

(cheerful)

If that so, this time I will fight for us. Can we start all over again?

NOREEN hugs LEVI.

LEVI grabs NOREEN’s right hand and exit on the right.

Photo from Medium

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Would it be ok?

Torres, R.

When I met you, a light came flashing through my dark dull dawn bringing hope if it would be okay if I still love you after you’re gone.

On the edge of the wide world I stand alone with my sunset sad silhouette crying, wondering if it would still be ok to tell you my secret.

When I let you go, I knew you’ll return for my helpless heart hopes, ripping in two, ripping apart asking would it be ok if you hug me like tight ropes.

Behind the smiles I showed you is a sadness where pricking pain persists while waking up with silent tears asking darling would it be ok if, you, still, in dreams exist.

Photo by Nokia David

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Journey of a not so good writer

Torres, R. 

    How does it feel to be a good writer? How does it feel to know how to write? Well, I can do the alphabet? But seriously, I wish I am one, one with a great mind and hand. “Behold: This is a new chapter,” This is not how I start a piece, with all the play on words, it’s not my thing. I can’t be like Fidel of 100 tula para kay Stella, nor Sionil Jose who’s deeply concerned with social justice. I don’t have the imagination of a great writer behind the Harry Potter series or create horror and fantasy books like Stephen Hawking. All I ever do is get a pen and a paper, sit on my favorite chair and let my mind wander until time runs out. I can’t still focus on writing, even though I do it often. Do I find it boring? I don’t know? I guess not. Sometimes I feel I was doing it like I’m writing but the inconsistency of my sentence structure, diction, and theme kills my mood. In writing, emotions play a significant part in connecting with the audience and the problem is, I’m not an expressive type of person. I can’t even put my thoughts into words full of magic. And if I do, maybe miracles are true.

    Let me tell you about my journey to being a not-so-good-writer. It all started when I was in 7th grade. It’s in 2012 where it all started. It’s evening and I’m deeply in love, I guess. Paper crafts were around my table and I was writing a love letter, imagine, at that age, what do I even know about love? Anyway, everything that was written there was pure feelings, as pure as my innocence about where would that take me. Oh how I miss my younger self, memories are indeed golden. I can still picture myself smiling while writing the whole letter and I’m definitely disgusted with myself. It still gives me chills and by the way, don’t even bother knowing what happened next, the important thing is my writing started with such happiness and love. Moving on, as I grew up, my problem in expressing myself became worse. I can’t describe what I feel, I can’t even know what I feel. See? Hashtag struggle is real. I remembered in 10th grade when our teacher in English instructed us to write a short piece about what you feel at the moment. Guess what, I said, “At the moment, I feel nothing. Is that still humane?” But my teacher didn’t react. That’s when I realized that in expressing oneself through writing, you don’t need flowery words or deep vocabulary. Even in a simple diction, feelings can be expressed. That’s my enlightenment of what it takes to be a good writer. Passion. Discipline. Emotions. Play on words is just a plus. Well, if you’re good at playing words, I envy you because not everyone can perfectly do that.

    They say everyone is a good writer of their own, haven’t they see me? Heard me? Experienced me? Maybe their perception of a good writer is different from mine? I am poor. I am not that good. I wonder how it feels to be rich in writing. How it feels to be able to write beautifully. To be able to turn an empty paper to a majestic novel. To be able to turn vision into inspiration. Oh, how I wish I am one, one with a great mind and hand. Someone asked me, “What is your inspiration in writing?” I said, “I don’t know, I just write.” Well, even not-so-good writers have inspiration but what’s mine? This is what I asked myself the moment I entered senior high school because there are so many good writers in our class. They can start from nothing but can still finish a magical piece. What is it that inspires them? Family? A crush? What about mine? After a long time of thinking, I now know what keeps me on writing. Why I didn’t stop even though I’m not a good one. My inspiration comes from a friend of mine. A friend who’s labeled as “makata” in our group. A friend who loves to write and write and write. I envy him. He always has something on his mind, an inspiration to start a work. A driving force to create such beautiful pieces. I wish I can do what he does. My love for his works have spurred the writer in me and I thank him for that, for knowing him. Although I didn’t stop writing, I never loved my work. Only when someone appreciates it, that’s when I appreciate myself too. But I’m scared of sharing my thoughts, my ideas, and my interpretation of something. Knowing that someone will read this piece makes me nervous. Maybe I’m scared of what criticism I would face? I really don’t trust my works because I feel like I always make mistakes when writing. I’m not proud. I have no confidence in it but still, I never stopped.

    Reading has helped me want to write because I find it interesting what it feels to write your own story or anything. It made me feel like I must start working on my pen rather than worrying about tomorrow. Whenever I don’t feel like writing. Whenever I get anxious about my works. I read. I talk to my friends to feel at ease. I take my dog for a walk. I leave the house and give myself time to unwind, get some fresh air, and stop overthinking. I jot down the highlights of my every stroll, filling my mind with ideas for tomorrow’s pen and paper date. After that, everything is restored.

    My works have improved in the past years. My experiences, bitter and sweet, have turned me into a wonderful person. A not-so-good yet amazing writer. My eyes have learned how to see through souls. I can now write what I feel, feelings that represent my dreams, emotions that show my personality. Writing has been my exit on reality, my comfort, and my world. Until now, I can’t believe I made myself who I am today. A writer who doesn’t just write but also feels. I realized I am my own masterpiece. A work ‘not yet finished’ for I’ll continue to improve what is needed to be improved. There is no “I wish I am one, one with a great mind and hand,” anymore because I am made of a great mind and a creative hand. Yes, I am no perfect masterpiece, but I am full of perfect broken things. This is me. This is my journey.

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Joker

Cudia, Jon Benedict Y.

I smile because it brings happiness. I

Laugh because it brings joy. I dance with

The rhythm of dead notes and broken 

Speakers. I laugh within the deafening

Silence of my room. I’m a doctor because

laughter is what I prescribe. And I

overdosed myself with it. Laughter was

my medicine, but madness became my cure.

Photo by WallpaperAccess

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Shed a Tear

Cudia, Jon Benedict Y.

“No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is, won’t make you cry.”

-unknown

 My tears are worthy as a diamond, not just figuratively, but literally.

At the age of 6 I got cut by a knife. The pain extended up to my throat, spilling water from my eyes. It flowed down to my cheeks creating droplets of clear water that rippled as they met the floor. It wasn’t water nor tears but diamonds. My mother hugged me and she wiped away my tears. But when she caressed her finger below my eyes, she felt the liquid solidify into crystals.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a cut. Mama is here with you”, she said as she gave me another hug. I felt her heart connect to mine. Her embrace felt like a magic mantle that can wash away all sorrows. And when she pulled back to look me in the eye, I stopped crying. She smiled again as she fixed my hair, and she gave me a kiss on my forehead.

I noticed her hand holding a clear and beautiful crystal. I was mesmerized by its beauty.

“Momma, what’s that?” I asked.

“These are your tears, my dear.” She replied.

“My tears? I can cry diamonds?”

“Yes. Because your tears are too worthy to be shed.”

 At the age of 12, we were buried in debts. We had no idea how to manage around the hurdle fate placed on us. I stood at the doorframe watching, through the gap, my mother argued with my father in the middle of the night. They were planning on using my tears to pay our debts.

My mom went against it. They agreed to keep my tears as a secret when they first knew and kept it as a last resort. But the last resort was all we had.

When dad left the room, I entered with careful steps and cautious feet as I was trying not to surprise her. When I got near enough, I asked her.

“Mom, is there a problem?”

She turned slowly towards me with bewildered face, eyes wide open as if she saw a ghost.

“Nothing, dear.” She smiled, no trace of frustration, no trace of sorrow. As if nothing happened.

She accompanied me to my bed like she usually does. She pulled the sheets up and she caressed my hair accompanied by a sweet lullaby similar to a siren’s song that she usually sung to put me to sleep. I rested my head on the soft pillow listening to mother’s hum. Her tone loosened my muscles, washing away the exhaustion brought by the day.

She kissed my cheek as she uttered her sweet words that she usually say before I sleep, like a spell. “Goodnight”, she said, and she left the room.

 I did not sleep

 At the rise of the next sun, I met mother who was blowing fire in the kitchen.

              “Goodmorning, dear”, she said. She stopped what she was doing and she gave me a hug and a kiss on my forehead.

              “Mom”, I called out.

              “Yes, dear?”, she answered.

              I lifted a huge pouch up in front of her and she took it from my hands.

              “What’s this?” she asked. She opened the bag. Her smile was overwritten with concern. “What happened dear? What made you cry?”

She held my face softly, making my eyes sting. Her expression punctured my heart, and it rendered me mute. But despite the lump that blocked my throat, I forced myself to speak.

“I heard mommy and daddy arguing last night about the debt that we can’t pay. Daddy said we can’t find a way around and my tears are the only thing that can pay it. So last night I did not sleep. I snuck out of my room, took a knife, and cut wounds on my arms until I cry enough diamonds to pay off the debt. But this is all I got mom, just a few pieces”

Silence.

My mother simply gazed the small pieces of diamonds which she held. I simply looked at her. Her hair blocked my view to see her face, but I saw the tears she shed fell on to the diamonds I cried last night. She stretched her arms to me, while holding the pouch I gave her. She gave me a very strong hug. Her chest bobbed at every silent sobs I heard beside my ear and the tears that slid down on my neck. I hugged her back, tears falling down on my cheeks that later hits the ground in a solid state.

“I’m sorry”, I whispered. “I just want to help.”

“I understand, dear. Please don’t do it again”, she replied

“Yes, mom. I promise”

 But I would go far for you

 One day, mom grew ill. She spent her entire day bedridden. Her skin was cold as ice, her face as pale as the dead. She was sweating too much.

Father cannot afford a medicine because they were too expensive and his salary cannot meet the price. But I could, if only I could.

I stayed inside mother’s room, constantly drenching and placing the wet towel on her forehead. “Mom, If I made sacrifices for you. Will you still love me?”, I asked.

“Don’t, dear, please don’t”, she replied.

“Yes mom, I won’t. But will you still love me?”

She turned her head towards me with a genuine smile. She caressed my cheek as she whispered her answer, “Yes, I will still love you no matter what”.

I pressed her palm against my cheek and a tear slid down my cheek as I said “Thank you”.

 It doesn’t matter whether you will or not, I love you even more.

 With enough effort, I got mother a medicine for a small price. She questioned the origin of the medicine, as I sat her up on the bed. I told her that I got it for a fair price. She caressed my cheek as I opened the bottle and my eyes stung.

“Your skin is beautifully smooth. Any man who marries you will be lucky.” She told me

“Mom, If my skin is no longer beautiful and smooth, will you still love me as your daughter?” I asked.

“Of course I will. I love you no matter what.”, she said.

Joy filled my heart, covering the sorrow that filled it in the first place.

After I gave mother a dose of her medicine, I went to my room to strip off my clothing. I was ugly, my body was covered in cuts and wounds. The price I paid for a bottle of medicine.

I took a bowl and laid on a table, directly below my head. And on my hand was a sharp knife,

“I’m sorry, mom.” I whispered as I started cutting my skin, on my abdomen, on my back, on my waist. I cried silent sobs as I bled and cried my tears. I heard the bowl thud with pieces of diamonds. I looked down, looking at how many small pieces I collected.

“Not enough”, I whispered. “I need more for her medicine”. I continued cutting wounds on my body, continued on shedding tears.

 My tears are worth millions, so I’ll cry it all for you

 We both sat on the bed as I was giving her a dose of medicine she needed. Somehow mom was improving, but she was far from being better. She regained enough energy but she remained pale and cold. Just as the doctor said, I gave her a spoonful of the medicine after every four hours which he prescribed mom.

I fought the guilt of breaking my promise to mom that slowly killed me inside. If I told her about what I did, it might worsen her condition.

“You look tired. Your eyes are dark, and you’re turning pale. Were you sleeping properly?”, I flinched when she asked me the question.

“N-nothing, I’m just worried about you, that’s why.” I replied

“Don’t worry too much, dear. You’ll lose your beauty.”

“Mom”, I called, “If I lose my beauty, will I still be your daughter?”

“Of course you will. This is the third time you asked me this.”

Mother wrapped her arms around my waist, tight. I bit the stinging sensation that I felt underneath my clothes. I cried at the immense pain that I felt, all the cuts and wounds were pressed by a hot iron.

 My beauty will always be you

 But all those days with mother were over. I was on my way home when I noticed dark clouds rising from afar. I rushed towards the direction, passing along familiar directions and passages. My heart ran as fast as I did. I prayed to all gods that exists, but none heard my prayers.

My heart sank the way my knees did. A band of thugs burned our home. They were sent by the wealthy man to whom my father was indebted with. They wanted more of the tears I shed. I could’ve gave more if only they were patient. I cried on the ground, sobbing loudly as I laid down on the soil. They found out that the diamonds father gave him were from me, so they took me as their prisoner.

They tortured me for days. They have torn me apart. But my heart grew hard and numb. No matter how hard or painful they’ve tried, they can’t manage to get a single tear from me. I will only shed a tear for mother, for mother only, not for anyone else.

 By the time the wealthy man saw no use in me, he decided to dispose me. They pulled the sack that covered my head and they revealed to me the room in which I was in. There were candles on the four stone walls of the room in which I was chained down on my knees. A mirror stood in front of me. I saw myself. My lips were cut and my face was covered in violet bruises. My hair was thunder-struck and my skin was covered in wounds and stitches. I was ugly, very ugly, not the daughter whom my mother knew.

They lifted the mirror, revealing another prisoner in front of me. She was one of the unfortunate women who were used for sexual satisfaction.

Our eyes met and tears bled from her eyes as she whispered a word before a sharp edge emerged from her chest.

I was struck, silenced, I can’t hear a thing. For once, I feared death when it was presented in front of me. I froze and all I heard was my reply to the woman in front of me:

 I love you too, mom.

 And a piece of red diamond fell.

Photo boy AlauraAutograph

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Odio on Writing

By Lamson, Nicole.

Here's a hint about what will you expect on this, I hate writing. Period.

I don't 100% despise it but I don't see it as my “genre" in life, a facet of my hobbies or even a thing on my hand.

I'm a person whose mouth is like a blooming flower, opening to see what the world expect me to be. Speaking, specifically giving speeches like persuasive, informative or even argumentative essays is what my body really wanted.

But I know these questions are roaming around your head…

How come she loves speaking if she hates writing? How can she deliver a speech if there is no manuscript to read?

It all started in 8th grade, our topic is all about the culture and traditions of Egypt and Africa wherein we are assigned to choose one country to be our topic in our persuasive speech. I choose Egypt at that very moment yet nothing struck my mind on what words or content to include. I saw my classmate’s draft that they already wrote and finished their whole speech. I was pressured due to my English teacher giving plus points to whoever finish or started the body of their speech and me? I didn’t get any because my paper is really empty.

After five long days, the day of the delivery of speeches has come and I didn’t expect that I left my envelope that contains the manuscript of my speech, which I made for three days with no leisure, at home. I was panicking and thinking I might get a zero on our performance task. So I came to my teacher and explained why all this karma is happening to me. She gave me a consideration to pass my manuscript the next day but I should still perform in front of the class, without any doubt I walk towards our podium and the next is history.

Another is when I was on 10th grade, our English teacher grouped us consisting of 4 members and tasked 2 members of the group to deliver a speech while the other 2 are the “speech writer / make-up artist”. So, I volunteer myself as one of the speaker and let my other group members decide about the topics that wants to be delivered or expressed.

The most awaited day has come, the whole class is so nervous due the frightening stare of our teacher in the room. “Number 15, you are up” announced by my classmate, I really don’t know what to expect but the last thing I remember is that I delivered my speech very well in front of 50 people, clapping their hands like there is no tomorrow.

Grade 11 persuasive speech is an unforgettable moment for me because I was considered one of the best speakers in class. But before obtaining that title, writing my speech which tackles the words “po” and “opo” is not easy as it seems. The guideline tells us that it our speech should be longer than three minutes but shorter than 5 minutes yet I’m not satisfied by my topic.

Our oral communication teacher gave his other sphere time for us to do our speeches so that he can monitor and check what we’re writing. For the last day of our writing, I came back and forth to my teacher for at least 3 times already and he is still not approved by my speech conclusion. Then for the last time, my teacher already gave me the answer to what should I write as my ending.

“Who wants to be on day 2? Remember if you’re on the second day, my standards are much higher compared to those who are having their speech on the first day.” I’m a bit anxious about the little speech my teacher gave, the slot for the first day is already full and I have no choice but to get the 9th slot for the second day.

That “second day” came, I know that I prepared myself for a battle between me vs. my teachers standards. After the 8th speaker delivers his speech, it’s my turn now and there is not turning back.

After 5 long minutes of repeating the words “po” and “opo”, my speech came to an end. The laughter, smiles and screams of my classmates became a melody to my ear. When my teacher called me about my grade, he congratulated me being one of the best and he might let us perform to his other classes which made me very happy.

See, writing puts me in trouble but in some point in time it helps me to be in success.

But here are the real reasons why I really hate writing:

1.      I’m not grammar wise.

2.      I prefer memorization rather than holding a pen.

3.      I’m not that creative and imaginative like how a writer should be.

Anything that includes grammar is something that makes my body panic especially when I need to use the words ‘has’ and ‘have’ or  ‘in’ or ‘on’ because I  don’t know the difference between the two and when to use it. I’m also not creative and imaginative due to the fact that I like expressing my emotions literally and straight to the point.

This school year 2019 – 2020 is the only year where I was exposed to writing. Having 2 subjects that are more likely identical to each other which number one requirement is to write almost drives me insane.

But I saw how important writing is due to those two subjects. They gave us activities which help me opened my mind to the real world and how imaginative I can be.

I saw a paper and a pen as my companion whenever I’m writing my draft.

Last month, our teacher requires us to create our very own short story which I really enjoyed the most because she gave us a free will about our topic and the way we wrote the final paper. I also got a high score and my teacher mentioned that my story is a roller coaster from start to finish.

I was really overwhelmed about her comment which gave a motivation to ‘love’ writing.

I’m on the process of loving it, maybe at least 30%.

I know I repeatedly wrote writing for a thousand times but I just really wanted to say thank you because the memories which I might forget will always be back through reading.

Photo by Imgflip

[ultrahellodear-blog]

LOOK UP!

By Lamson, Nicole

He was the one who lifts me out of the blue

It is Him who helped shape the girl in front of you

He’s more than the guy of my dreams, the apple of my eye and my Achilles heels

And took me away from sadness which He kills.

He is my somebody as I can tell

He’s my blessing that should be a blessing to others as well

And His plan is not just there for Him to chew

So just look up and you can have Him too.

Photo from Pinterest

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Along the Road

J. Orquia

In dilemma of what path to take,

North, east, south west, my mind

Is like a compass, can't decide on its fate.

I remember when I used to be so sure of 

What I really want. Passion used to be my

Driving force but now, I say, maybe its

Really not. Should I turn left or right, where

Do I start? Dear traffic, please let me move forward.

Photo edited by k.aragoza

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Along the Corridor

J. Orquia

With black and white, my eyes found you

A pale young man, a walking clue

That your day is sad, bright sides are few

I wonder why you look so blue

Then I thought of me as your yellow

I held your hands, stories then follow

Monochromatic turning to rainbow

To see you smile is my place to go

Photo edited by k.aragoza

[ultrahellodear-blog]

black and white

k.aragoza

The colors of white and black I like how they contrast Similar to my mind and heart Opposing with one another Sometimes, I don't know what to choose I needed to cherry-pick Or maybe I'll just follow my heart But I'm taking my mind with it

[ultrahellodear-blog]

between maybe is y

k.aragoza

“I know this love has not always been easy. We’ve had bad times, nights where both of us had to walk away, fights where the peace we used to find in one another seemed like a distant thread of melody in an ocean of white noise, and it’s so easy to get lost in that. But stop. Listen to the way our hearts still answer to one another. Listen to the music our intertwined laughter makes. Listen to how, after enough mornings have passed, words traded in the heat of a fight begin to feel less like a weight tied to my back and more like a bag that I have to choose to pick up and carry again and again. Listen to me refusing to pick them up. Listen to how I refuse to walk away. Listen to the sound of my footsteps coming back to you, always coming back with my heart in my hands and a renewed desire to understand how that mind of yours works. Listen to what I’m trying so hard to tell you through my actions because I understand that today, my words fall short: Love is not always easy. Love is a commitment. Love is a choice, and I choose you every time.”

"Betty. Betty. Betty!" Ms. Riego suddenly break the silence upon seeing me using my phone.

I ask why with my stuttering voice and blushing face.

"You're physically present but mentally absent again"

"Answer no. 2!"

Stephanie tried to whisper the answer to me but she failed. As the usual class days I stand the whole hour of Ms. Riego's time. 

But who wouldn’t get bored in her class? The subject is Mathematics which I hated the most and I think most of us hated as well. My time would not go to waste if I’ll just read some love stories being told by random people online. And even if I listen I’m sure that I still don’t understand the lesson either.

“Let’s go get some snacks,” Stephanie says with her big smile painted on her face, “The bell rings already aren’t you hungry yet?” “I’m tired,” I replied.

She grab my hand and keep walking until we reach the canteen. We went to our favorite burger stand where they sell a big portion of what one will expect on burgers. The queue was long. Our eyes meet saying we should do something. We were about to make a scene again. 1, 2, 3.

“I think I’m about to passed out,” Stephanie acted desperately.

Of course, I will make sure we’ll succeed this plan.

“Can someone clear the line? My friend hasn’t eat breakfast yet.”

People from the back screamed, “You two always do that whenever the queue is long here! Better luck next time, try to improve your acting skills.”

After 15 minutes, we finally got to order our food. What a tiring journey it is. 

“Steph,” I pat her back repeatedly and use my lips to point out the direction. “Look at him.” 

“Woah! Niel is really someone, students let him go first in line.”

And I confidently blurted, “I know, that’s why we’re meant to be.”

The popular, athletic, intelligent, and handsome boy in our school, yes, he is Niel. The description fits for him to be a heartthrob. He is not a typical flirt heartthrob. He is different. He seems to be hard-working. In fact, teachers love to mention his name bragging how good he is. And here I am exactly the opposite of him. Well, teachers also love to mention my name but not to brag but to tell each other how dim-witted I am in class. But “opposite attracts” as everyone says. I have a chance. 

“You know what Betty, you’re a cliché type of girl. You want fairytales. You want to have a story like in the movies and romantic posts describe. You always read and watch romantic stories and what’s even more is you’re doing it in class!” Steph exclaimed.

I remained silent for a moment. Steph was right. I would lie if I say that I don’t assume to have romantic excitement in my life. I always make a way to copy what characters do in movies. One time, I know that it’ll rain anytime soon as I leave the house but I didn’t bring any umbrella because just like in the movies someone will offer me his umbrella and that’s the start of the relationship between us two. Yet, destiny didn’t approve my liking. Steph shared her umbrella with me but since we were going the opposite way I needed to go through the rain. On my way home, I saw Niel. I’m confident enough that he would share his umbrella to me because there are no reasons for him not to accompany me considering that we’re neighbors. As expected, he went closer to me and we both went home. Okay, I just lied. I don’t want to be embarrassed. He passed through as if there’s no one around. I went home soaking wet.

I cut what I’m thinking in my mind. “Stop it Steph, I got that already,” I sighed. “Can we just head home?”

Once I entered my room, I immediately open the laptop and go watch movies again. Dinner time, I would just pause it and eat as fast as I can. I have no time to review for the tests tomorrow but still manage to read poems from @luniapoetry.

Morning came and I’m ready to go to school. I decided to bring my books as if I reviewed a lot last night. On my way to school, I saw Niel again. I purposely drop the books I’m carrying. This snob really trying me. He didn’t even help nor look at me. Second attempt failed again.

Maybe I wasn’t meant for romantic excitements. Maybe I should accept the fact that reality is really different from the pages of books and minutes of movies. But no! I can’t accept it. Why is there nothing good happening to me? 

“Betty what’s with that face again?” Steph asked in doubt. “You just got here in school 2 minutes ago, is there anything bad happens?”

I didn’t say a word at first.

“Steph! Help me to let Niel notice me,” I giggled asking her. “Please? For the last time.”

Steph look hard towards me saying, “I think it’s the 27th time you had said that.” That’s a fact again. I never stopped doing such things to let him notice me. Sometimes I do care on what people say but mostly I don’t. I’m looking desperate to know that someone will look at me and say how lucky he is to have me. I’m desperate to be someone dreaming of. Maybe I’ll just accept the fact that I’m a hopeless romantic who doesn’t fit at any descriptions.

I almost forgot.

That was 7 years ago and the feelings had change. 

Today is the wedding of my best friend, Steph and my all-time crush, Niel. I realized a lot as they exchange “I dos.” And I am a witness of their great love and here I am standing with them in front of the altar as their bridesmaid. Every day I keep reminded of the story I read by @luniapoetry while in class. It is true that love is not always easy. Love is a commitment. Love is a choice, and I choose him every time. But there is always an exception. I chose to free myself and free others around to find the real happiness within. My maybes were not answered immediately but I found the answers later on.

Photo by Cassandra Catic & edited by yours truly

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Chikret Troop: Baguio's Senses

J. Orquia

Last December, Orquia clan went to Baguio. For 3 days stay with the family, I can say that my body encountered a new whole world in senses.

Sight. It was my first time going to Baguio and I saw clouds kissing the land. Personally, I like clouds and when I saw that, it was as if fogs particularly liked me. The city had ups to climb unto and downs to glide on. It was fun for us, teens, but with my lola and other aunties and uncles as well with my parents, walking was not even a little fun. It was filled with trees that seems filtered in a faded manner. At the parks, where tourists were jam-packed, I saw a place decorated with flowers and unending people with smiles and cameras. We also went to a farm, there, I saw a good scenery, field of plants and on the horizon lied structures of houses  and mountainous sight. And my most favorite time was when the sun went to say goodbye and houses started opening their lights. It was like stars on land. It was like as if wishes are get-able.

Smell. The air was calming fresh. All except this certain place where locals take good care of horses and let people rode on it for rent. Of course, it will not smell good. And all except that smell strawberries and cold breeze.

Taste. Strawberry ice cream melted on my taste buds. And I can't understand why on this weather did I enjoy two rounds of frozen strawberries. It was sweet in a way that I wouldn't mind even if I froze at that moment. I also tasted their strawberry flavored taho, street foods and many more.

Hearing. Guitar and Songs are our jam as we grouped together as cousins on the attic of the rental house. The cold air of night was warmed by our laughter and melodies of impromptu singing accompanied by guitar.

Feel. More than the new temperature and soft blankets, those days was my happiest. Though I failed to really explore the city since it was always raining, I really enjoyed the company of my cousins. I enjoyed their hugs. Whenever we took pictures, I enjoyed the closeness I feel when we said "Compress!". 

Baguio is a place that contained memories of love and as I look back to the most memorable trip with the Chikret troop(as we call our clan), good sceneries are what I remember and all was left to treasure are the smiles we shared together. 

Photo edited by k.aragoza

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Jeepney

Torres, R.

    The sky turned blue and gray. We looked exhausted. “Should we start?” I asked in a cheerful tone. “Yes.” She replied. We’re on a jeepney when I started asking her multiple questions. “What are your special skills or talents?” I said. She paused for a moment. “I guess creating artworks because that’s where I’m good at.” I smiled and proceeded to the next question. I asked her favorite quote or saying. “It’s from the anime Hunter x Hunter. ‘You should enjoy the little detours to the fullest. Because that’s where you’ll find the things more important than what you want.” She answered with a serious face.

    The jeepney stopped. We found ourselves stuck in the middle of the traffic then I asked her, “What do most people say about you?” She smiled and said, “I don’t know if it’s just because of my face or my voice, but most people say that I’m kind.” We laughed. And as the jeepney got out of the traffic, we moved to the next question. “What do I like and dislike the most?” She asked in confusion. “Yeah, anything,” I responded. “Uhm, I like seeing beautiful sceneries with my friends and I strongly dislike hurting the people dear to me.” She answered.

    We’re down to the last question. “Hobbies? Do you have any?” I asked. “Well, I usually spend my time drawing, watching series and movies, painting, and singing.” She said. Lastly, I thanked her for honestly answering my questions. That ended my interview with her. “Para po!” I said. We got out of the jeepney and said our goodbyes.

Photo by Chloe Guzman

[ultrahellodear-blog]

insecurities

k.aragoza

Will you be able to fully show another person your flaws and insecurities and realize they still love you even if you're not perfect? You're the bravest person I met even you're not perfect. It might sound a little bit selfish but loving yourself is a must. Acne, flat-chested, tanned skin do not give your overall character. You don't need to prove yourself and ask permission to others to accept self. Hold on tight we're about to go to an adventure called life, self.

[ultrahellodear-blog]

Tired

Cudia, Jon Benedict

              Heavy, the first thing I felt early in the morning was the heaviness of my morning dreaminess. My arms felt like  pair of Iron cables as I reached for my phone. Like a lightning, white light flashed my sigh. Like thunder, time woke me in a snap. 5:30am, I woke up too late. I bolted up-straight in a panic as I reached out for the already-filled thermos to heat some water for my bath.

              A stampede of tiny footsteps trampled on the roofs of houses. A day wherein students will always check the Facebook page of ACDRRMC for the chance to stay at home “legally” and slack off the entire day. Unfortunately, that day wasn’t “the day.”

              I swore in my thoughts, because the next thing I knew is I woke up again. 5:45am, I slept for another 15 minutes. The cold air of rainy season is a sleeping spell for almost anyone. As if it had a petrifying debuff casted on me and the bed had some entangling trap of invisible vines and roots that kept me from standing up. Morning rainy days are like Adarna Birds that sing slent songs that drive you to sleep.

              I grabbed my thermos of hot water and ran towards the bathroom. In my mind, I was anxious that the water was already warm due to my stupidity of falling asleep. But regardless, I had no time of dwelling on that thought and just poured that fuming water on the blue pale.

              I stirred the water, hoping that it would turn hot. But it turned warm, not warm enough to wash away the cold air caressing my bare skin. I was shivering the whole time and the only thing that can warm me is by pouring a dipper of warm water spontaneously. But I can’t start by pouring water from the top, I had to start from the feet. Because according to research, pouring from the feet is the most recommended start of taking a bath.

              I dried up after a long bath. The first thing I checked was my phone. I opened my data to go online on facebook messenger to check if Ranza had sent a message. She did. And I  replied “huhuhuhu, I’m sorry. I woke up late. See you at school. Ingaatt!”

              I rushed myself to my uniform, then to school. But there’s one thing I hate about early mornings: 6:30am commutes—traffics.

Imagine a trip that would normally take five to ten minutes. Then slam a traffic on that scene and the trip will feel like a mile-long journey. Sometimes I wished flying cars already existed today just like what the movie “back to the future” imagine the 21st century.               The jeep pulled over around HRPC, beside the ministop. I stepped down and rushed towards the university gate. Regardless of whether jay-walking being either a crime or not, I did not care. As a person chasing time, I don’t care about things anymore except being in time.

              I slammed my I.D. on the attendance and I ran towards the PGN building. The campus was crowded as if you can’t drop a needle in between the gaps of people walking within the campus. And after this crowd, the last obstacle every HAU student will encounter is either the crowded and congested elevator or climbing up to 7th floor through the means of stairs. I was so happy that I Stood in front of the elevator door, but in the end I was forced to take the stairs

              It was very tiring. The air was cold, yet I was sweating.  I don’t know if I’m the cause why I feel hot or it is generally hot inside the building. But, I hate it when I sweat. I feel like all the bath I took was gone in a snap.

              Even though I’m irritated by the terrible sweat and heat that I felt while walking up the stairs, I was firm enough to continue. What was my choice anyway? School s is School, I must comply.

              Thankfully, I got in the room on time. Everyone stood up and the Prelims was just about to start.  I was safe.

              I dropped my bag on my seat and I turned towards Jaylie who was smiling to me. “O bat ka nalate?” she said in sarcastic tone.  She was clearly teasing me.

              I simply smiled without any retort. I was too tired to even reply and I just simply turned towards my teacher by the start of the prelims.

              --------------------------------------------------------

              Class began. I knew it was the first day, but I felt really tried and drowsy. I could barely remember anything from the first subject. My mind is too tired to even process information and record everything my teacher said.

              The first subject met its end and the first break of the day started. It was supposedly a break where everyone should be resting or eating their snacks. But in our class, it was different. Everyone rehearsed their plays for the 2nd subject: Applied Social Sciences. Of course, it was normal for me. But normalizing this kind of culture, was it really meant to be normal for students?

              I did my part in my group. My role is simply a father shaming his daughter (cruel, right?). I feel like a typical abusive father in GMA Filipino noontime dramas. It was an easy and underwhelming role. On top of that, I even forgot to bring my own costume for the play. But rest assured, I was clever enough to use my jacket, bag, umbrella, and I even borrowed spectacles as a cosmetic. And during the presentation, it all worked out.

              Due to the lengthy amount of time the plays consumed. Not everyone was able to present their outputs. The last group were forced to present during lunch time or they will suffer a loss of grades.

              School really is tiring, especially Mondays. The presentation for Social Sciences was not the only activity we have for that day. We still had two subjects to prepare for. And up next is Politics and governance.

              First, we had our lunch. I invited Jaylie to come with us down, to the PGN basement and buy our lunch. But she insisted in staying due to her responsibility in the group. She was ought to prepare for their presentation since they will be the first performing group. I agreed, but I insisted on buying her something like a drink or anything. She asked for red tea. We rushed down the building through the elevators and bought ourselves lunch and drinks. Then, we rushed back up again since we did not have much time to slack off. I tell you, honestly, Monday is really tiring.

              We got up, we ate, we talked, we laughed.  But it all took place in just an hour. Then, we went back to our responsibilities. Yes, fun times are just short times. We always try to find one, even if we can barely have any.

              But life is not just enjoying, responsibilities are a part of it. After lunch, we immediately started our creation of stations for our gallery walk in Politics and Governance subject under two hours. Here’s a comment: 2 hours was not enough. WE EXERT OUR BIGGEST EFFORTS IN CREATING GOOD OUTPUTS AND 2 HOURS WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH. Our group even agreed to prepare 20 sheets of coffee-stained papers prior to the actual preparation day. We also had curtains, 6 sheets of cartolinas, and a bunch of black and white images just to capture the vibe of the first Philippine Republic.

              2 hours had pass, and I’m craving for home. My brain is depleted with juices and I can just drop down and melt into water. But despite of this long hell I am forced to take, we still had one subject, “TRENDS”.

              Our teacher only gave us 1 hour. YES 1 HOUR. It’s like accomplishing everything without committing a single mistake. We had no time for brainstorming, what we only had was work and work. Thankfully, my group mates were able to prepare visual aids prior to the actual preparation date and all we did left are simply cutting and pasting.

              After an hour, the first group presented. Honestly, I felt bad for them. It was almost impossible to prepare under an hour. I knew the pressure in that, I felt that, too.

              We only had two presenters for that time. The rest, we were granted more time to prepare. Towards the end of school, most of us stayed in our room to continue our preparation for Philippine politics and governance. Yes, even though school had ended, we are still working after the long and tiring hours of learning. Right school it is.

              Jaylie and the others went home ahead of me. They had much work to do, so did I. So I went home all by myself. I rode a jeepney all by myself. I felt heavy pressure of the day on me during the whole ride. As if a gargoyle birched on my shoulers and moving is almost impossible.

              I watched the passing lights of the city. Usually, I’m riding with Jaylie on the way home. Now, it feels uncomfortable without her with me. I had no one to talk to, I was simply silent during the whole ride.

              “Para po!” I asked the driver. He pulled over underneath the overpass and I stepped down to go home in my dorm.

              Rest? Nope, that’s not real. As students, it felt like rest was not an option, always. Because when I got home, I began working on my assignments and things to review for our presentation. I want to have some fun, but that would put my schedule into great risk. The week was already a hassle, I can’t afford stressing out again.

              After all the work I did,I slept around 9pm. Normally, I would sleep at 12am. But I feel really tired to even exceed. I messaged Jaylie before I slept, I told her that I’m going to sleep. And the next thing I knew, I was asleep.

              To summarize my whole day, Mondays are hectic and tiresome. It is the busiest day of the week, compared to the rest. All I ever wanted was to learn, but not to push myself to my breaking point.

Photo by CBN News

[ultrahellodear-blog]

                                   Forgive but not Forget.

                                        by Lamson, Nicole

"Nak, uwi ka agad", that was a text message that came from my mom that popped on my phone. December 19, 2017 supposed to be an ordinary day with an ordinary message that I received all the time from my mom and dad which I didn't expect will change the course of history of my family. And even my perspective towards my friends. 

"Patay na si Lolo Tisoy mo, magbihis ka na" was the statement that sprang on me after coming home from school. Though a blank space scattered on my mind, I ran to my room and changed my clothes to black and white. While sitting and waiting for our departure, I remembered that our tradition on having a Christmas party was already planned by my friends which will be celebrated on the 21st of December at my house. But before telling that to my family, my mom came to me and said that my grandmother's arrival will be at the same day. So having no doubt, I canceled our party because I knew that they will understand my situation besides they’re my friends. After 5 minutes reading their complaints and making new plans about the party together with my now ex-boyfriend, I was just silent and applied the word 'seen' to our groupchat. Without any hesitation, I left the group and turned off my phone. December 20 to 27 was so exhausting and my family was burned-out due to how we entertained the guest and also the expenses. The internment of my great-grandfather came and his voyage through his pain has ended. Though he gave us a big hole on our chest, I'm just thankful that because of him, my family became whole again. 

 As Ashleigh Brilliant said "The worst kind of sad is not being able to know why", I don't know why this pain won't last. Maybe I just didn't expect on what to expect on my friends. It still questions me why my great grandfather left us unexpectedly. Perhaps the thing called forgive but not forget is my current motto and will always be.

Photo by Kassel