SOLARES Suspends Election due to Lack of Candidates; Townhall Postponed Until Further Notice
Societatis Lingua Artes (SOLARES) announced the “temporary suspension” of the elections due to a lack of candidates for “key positions” in the executive committee according to a statement posted on their Facebook page on Sunday. The Town Hall event hosted by HALANGDON will also be postponed until further notice due to the suspension of the election. The new date for the town hall event will depend on the developments of the situation and the decision of SOLARES and its COMELEC.
OGIM'S LITERATURE CORNER
SOLARES Suspends Election due to Lack of Candidates; Townhall Postponed Until Further Notice
Societatis Lingua Artes (SOLARES) announced the “temporary suspension” of the elections due to a lack of candidates for “key positions” in the executive committee according to a statement posted on their Facebook page on Sunday. The Town Hall event hosted by HALANGDON will also be postponed until further notice due to the suspension of the election. The new date for the town hall event will depend on the developments of the situation and the decision of SOLARES and its COMELEC.
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SOLARES Suspends Election due to Lack of Candidates; Townhall Postponed Until Further Notice
Societatis Lingua Artes (SOLARES) announced the “temporary suspension” of the elections due to a lack of candidates for “key positions” in the executive committee according to a statement posted on their Facebook page on Sunday. The Town Hall event hosted by HALANGDON will also be postponed until further notice due to the suspension of the election. The new date for the town hall event will depend on the developments of the situation and the decision of SOLARES and its COMELEC.
I’m Coming Home to my Mother
There in that new coast, I learned She had not built this dam in me. Even alone, I am flooding at the seams. I am drowning, Mother, it was a new sea. And all I want—God, all I want— is to sail to her warmth through the dark, to find the shore where she still awaits, and pour myself into her hands.
New Year, Same Me
I remember once taking a long walk just to see a place people kept talking about. It was an uphill hike to the tip of the mountain, a stroll in a forest, roads that pass by small villages and narrow rivers, and lots and lots of potholed roads and gnarled pathways that’d cause a stumble here and there, but promised a sight that would take breaths away. It was a week-long walk. I wondered why I even started walking. The path inclined more and more that it felt more like climbing than just walking. The kilometers just increased each day. And the roads just got longer and bumpier the further I went. My legs ached so much that at that point, I couldn’t feel them. I was nauseated, flabbergasted, and dreading every next day that came. The more we continued the camino, the more reason I wanted to go back the way I came from. There was no shortcut, just the road, stretching forward, asking me to continue. That’s how the year feels so far.
Safe and Sound My Dear
On the 19th of November, leaves retreat from the branches, struggles to find new home amongst the grasses, its voyage with the wind stucks in memory, You have you poured, twigs broken in harmony.
Merrymaking Memorably
When love and laughter has exhausted themselves after Christmas Eve, Day, New Year’s Eve, and finally the New Year, I’m left with the memories of it, a standstill of the joy captured, frozen in time. Just like that, party’s officially over. The gifts have been open, the money inside the envelopes evaporated, and the paksiw finally consumed in its entirety. A gaping hole that emerged right after the most festive season, a longing for it to go on forever. Nevertheless, it’s a constant reminder that joy will only ever be appreciated when we’re bombarded with everything else, that it’s spent sparsely, in order for us to appreciate life and the things that come with it, with Christmas being one merry example.
Mamamasko, Magdarasal, Maginhawa
Every house filled with festive trinkets and a an often wobbly yet earnestly built Christmas tree create a welcome atmosphere to the joyous season; yet, to many people, their homes find genuine warmth by embracing the true mark of the beginning of Christmas through the nine-day observance of Simbang Gabi or Mass at Dawn. But why is it that the majority of Catholic Filipinos flock to churches at such an early hour? Is it for the supposed wish that would be bestowed on a person should they complete all days of Simbang Gabi? Or is there more to the tradition that families and friends celebrate in the days leading up to Christmas?
Handmade Stars Called Parol
The flawed walkways taught me soon enough, I am made to be agile and nimble. It wasn't too hard to memorize the road. No older than fifteen, I was told I was small by the sidewalk that narrowed. And when September came, Jose Mari Chan would find his way back. Singing in new speakers and old radios notes dancing in the parol workshops which lined that Old Cabuyao Road. Stars are waking up then the light glows.
The Quiet Grace of December 8
Behold the Moon on the vigil’s quiet hours, Silvering the sky amidst the dark nights Her glow serene above shadowed bowers And guides souls from the blinding lights. For the moon is a mirror, so still and clear, Of the light she bears from the Sun. A lustre that dims every single murk of fear, The beacon that points to the face of her Son.
Juan Ponce Enrile is Dead and Everything Still Sucks
On November 29, 2023, former US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger passed away at the age of 100. There lies a man known worldwide, which is odd given despite being the topmost position in the executive department behind the president in history’s biggest empire, secretaries of state don’t often get to the fame, or infamy rather, of Kissinger.
A Eulogy: I live by Abbey Road
We are food for worms, says John Keating in Dead Poets Society. It’s humbling to die, and it’s devastating to be gone and face your own end like the rest of humanity, or even seeing others facing theirs. Sometimes, to grieve is to expect somebody’s return, but a dead person isn’t coming back, so what you could only do is to stare at the tombstone, as if it were to look at a past history.
Meaning’s Metamorphosis
The beauty of language lies in its cultural variance, shifting in symbols and intonations across localities and nations. But what becomes of beauty when its met with foreign counterparts? Misunderstanding boils like a bubbling stew. Wars are waged, conflict spits in the face of peace, and blood is spent. Enter translation, where differing tongues find common ground, utilized in various social affairs that span across empires and ages throughout history.
Dear Self
You murmur to yourself, “I want to give up. I want to end this suffering.” You were smiling on the outside, yet you’re not okay on the inside. Your friends think you're fine, but you know that you aren’t. Your thoughts raced and came to tell you things that destroyed you. You told yourself that you are not worthy to live. You kept telling yourself that nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.
Second Parents
To my second parents away from home,
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow: The Tenses of A Pressed Lens
Those who do not remember the past are bound to repeat it. Such a phrase is an age-old warning that has transcended the changes of time and has fallen deaf to some ears. It is a reminder that while injuries heal and cease to bleed, it leaves scars that symbolize resistance to the weapons that forcefully attempt to wound the hands and silence the voices that simply aim to share and speak truths, no matter how unpleasant they are.
SOLARES Suspends Election due to Lack of Candidates; Townhall Postponed Until Further Notice
Societatis Lingua Artes (SOLARES) announced the “temporary suspension” of the elections due to a lack of candidates for “key positions” in the executive committee according to a statement posted on their Facebook page on Sunday. The Town Hall event hosted by HALANGDON will also be postponed until further notice due to the suspension of the election. The new date for the town hall event will depend on the developments of the situation and the decision of SOLARES and its COMELEC.
I’m Coming Home to my Mother
There in that new coast, I learned She had not built this dam in me. Even alone, I am flooding at the seams. I am drowning, Mother, it was a new sea. And all I want—God, all I want— is to sail to her warmth through the dark, to find the shore where she still awaits, and pour myself into her hands.
New Year, Same Me
I remember once taking a long walk just to see a place people kept talking about. It was an uphill hike to the tip of the mountain, a stroll in a forest, roads that pass by small villages and narrow rivers, and lots and lots of potholed roads and gnarled pathways that’d cause a stumble here and there, but promised a sight that would take breaths away. It was a week-long walk. I wondered why I even started walking. The path inclined more and more that it felt more like climbing than just walking. The kilometers just increased each day. And the roads just got longer and bumpier the further I went. My legs ached so much that at that point, I couldn’t feel them. I was nauseated, flabbergasted, and dreading every next day that came. The more we continued the camino, the more reason I wanted to go back the way I came from. There was no shortcut, just the road, stretching forward, asking me to continue. That’s how the year feels so far.
Safe and Sound My Dear
On the 19th of November, leaves retreat from the branches, struggles to find new home amongst the grasses, its voyage with the wind stucks in memory, You have you poured, twigs broken in harmony.
Merrymaking Memorably
When love and laughter has exhausted themselves after Christmas Eve, Day, New Year’s Eve, and finally the New Year, I’m left with the memories of it, a standstill of the joy captured, frozen in time. Just like that, party’s officially over. The gifts have been open, the money inside the envelopes evaporated, and the paksiw finally consumed in its entirety. A gaping hole that emerged right after the most festive season, a longing for it to go on forever. Nevertheless, it’s a constant reminder that joy will only ever be appreciated when we’re bombarded with everything else, that it’s spent sparsely, in order for us to appreciate life and the things that come with it, with Christmas being one merry example.
Mamamasko, Magdarasal, Maginhawa
Every house filled with festive trinkets and a an often wobbly yet earnestly built Christmas tree create a welcome atmosphere to the joyous season; yet, to many people, their homes find genuine warmth by embracing the true mark of the beginning of Christmas through the nine-day observance of Simbang Gabi or Mass at Dawn. But why is it that the majority of Catholic Filipinos flock to churches at such an early hour? Is it for the supposed wish that would be bestowed on a person should they complete all days of Simbang Gabi? Or is there more to the tradition that families and friends celebrate in the days leading up to Christmas?
Handmade Stars Called Parol
The flawed walkways taught me soon enough, I am made to be agile and nimble. It wasn't too hard to memorize the road. No older than fifteen, I was told I was small by the sidewalk that narrowed. And when September came, Jose Mari Chan would find his way back. Singing in new speakers and old radios notes dancing in the parol workshops which lined that Old Cabuyao Road. Stars are waking up then the light glows.
The Quiet Grace of December 8
Behold the Moon on the vigil’s quiet hours, Silvering the sky amidst the dark nights Her glow serene above shadowed bowers And guides souls from the blinding lights. For the moon is a mirror, so still and clear, Of the light she bears from the Sun. A lustre that dims every single murk of fear, The beacon that points to the face of her Son.
Juan Ponce Enrile is Dead and Everything Still Sucks
On November 29, 2023, former US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger passed away at the age of 100. There lies a man known worldwide, which is odd given despite being the topmost position in the executive department behind the president in history’s biggest empire, secretaries of state don’t often get to the fame, or infamy rather, of Kissinger.
A Eulogy: I live by Abbey Road
We are food for worms, says John Keating in Dead Poets Society. It’s humbling to die, and it’s devastating to be gone and face your own end like the rest of humanity, or even seeing others facing theirs. Sometimes, to grieve is to expect somebody’s return, but a dead person isn’t coming back, so what you could only do is to stare at the tombstone, as if it were to look at a past history.
Meaning’s Metamorphosis
The beauty of language lies in its cultural variance, shifting in symbols and intonations across localities and nations. But what becomes of beauty when its met with foreign counterparts? Misunderstanding boils like a bubbling stew. Wars are waged, conflict spits in the face of peace, and blood is spent. Enter translation, where differing tongues find common ground, utilized in various social affairs that span across empires and ages throughout history.
Dear Self
You murmur to yourself, “I want to give up. I want to end this suffering.” You were smiling on the outside, yet you’re not okay on the inside. Your friends think you're fine, but you know that you aren’t. Your thoughts raced and came to tell you things that destroyed you. You told yourself that you are not worthy to live. You kept telling yourself that nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.
Second Parents
To my second parents away from home,
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow: The Tenses of A Pressed Lens
Those who do not remember the past are bound to repeat it. Such a phrase is an age-old warning that has transcended the changes of time and has fallen deaf to some ears. It is a reminder that while injuries heal and cease to bleed, it leaves scars that symbolize resistance to the weapons that forcefully attempt to wound the hands and silence the voices that simply aim to share and speak truths, no matter how unpleasant they are.
SOLARES Suspends Election due to Lack of Candidates; Townhall Postponed Until Further Notice
Societatis Lingua Artes (SOLARES) announced the “temporary suspension” of the elections due to a lack of candidates for “key positions” in the executive committee according to a statement posted on their Facebook page on Sunday. The Town Hall event hosted by HALANGDON will also be postponed until further notice due to the suspension of the election. The new date for the town hall event will depend on the developments of the situation and the decision of SOLARES and its COMELEC.
I’m Coming Home to my Mother
There in that new coast, I learned She had not built this dam in me. Even alone, I am flooding at the seams. I am drowning, Mother, it was a new sea. And all I want—God, all I want— is to sail to her warmth through the dark, to find the shore where she still awaits, and pour myself into her hands.
New Year, Same Me
I remember once taking a long walk just to see a place people kept talking about. It was an uphill hike to the tip of the mountain, a stroll in a forest, roads that pass by small villages and narrow rivers, and lots and lots of potholed roads and gnarled pathways that’d cause a stumble here and there, but promised a sight that would take breaths away. It was a week-long walk. I wondered why I even started walking. The path inclined more and more that it felt more like climbing than just walking. The kilometers just increased each day. And the roads just got longer and bumpier the further I went. My legs ached so much that at that point, I couldn’t feel them. I was nauseated, flabbergasted, and dreading every next day that came. The more we continued the camino, the more reason I wanted to go back the way I came from. There was no shortcut, just the road, stretching forward, asking me to continue. That’s how the year feels so far.
Safe and Sound My Dear
On the 19th of November, leaves retreat from the branches, struggles to find new home amongst the grasses, its voyage with the wind stucks in memory, You have you poured, twigs broken in harmony.
Merrymaking Memorably
When love and laughter has exhausted themselves after Christmas Eve, Day, New Year’s Eve, and finally the New Year, I’m left with the memories of it, a standstill of the joy captured, frozen in time. Just like that, party’s officially over. The gifts have been open, the money inside the envelopes evaporated, and the paksiw finally consumed in its entirety. A gaping hole that emerged right after the most festive season, a longing for it to go on forever. Nevertheless, it’s a constant reminder that joy will only ever be appreciated when we’re bombarded with everything else, that it’s spent sparsely, in order for us to appreciate life and the things that come with it, with Christmas being one merry example.
Mamamasko, Magdarasal, Maginhawa
Every house filled with festive trinkets and a an often wobbly yet earnestly built Christmas tree create a welcome atmosphere to the joyous season; yet, to many people, their homes find genuine warmth by embracing the true mark of the beginning of Christmas through the nine-day observance of Simbang Gabi or Mass at Dawn. But why is it that the majority of Catholic Filipinos flock to churches at such an early hour? Is it for the supposed wish that would be bestowed on a person should they complete all days of Simbang Gabi? Or is there more to the tradition that families and friends celebrate in the days leading up to Christmas?
Handmade Stars Called Parol
The flawed walkways taught me soon enough, I am made to be agile and nimble. It wasn't too hard to memorize the road. No older than fifteen, I was told I was small by the sidewalk that narrowed. And when September came, Jose Mari Chan would find his way back. Singing in new speakers and old radios notes dancing in the parol workshops which lined that Old Cabuyao Road. Stars are waking up then the light glows.
The Quiet Grace of December 8
Behold the Moon on the vigil’s quiet hours, Silvering the sky amidst the dark nights Her glow serene above shadowed bowers And guides souls from the blinding lights. For the moon is a mirror, so still and clear, Of the light she bears from the Sun. A lustre that dims every single murk of fear, The beacon that points to the face of her Son.
Juan Ponce Enrile is Dead and Everything Still Sucks
On November 29, 2023, former US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger passed away at the age of 100. There lies a man known worldwide, which is odd given despite being the topmost position in the executive department behind the president in history’s biggest empire, secretaries of state don’t often get to the fame, or infamy rather, of Kissinger.
A Eulogy: I live by Abbey Road
We are food for worms, says John Keating in Dead Poets Society. It’s humbling to die, and it’s devastating to be gone and face your own end like the rest of humanity, or even seeing others facing theirs. Sometimes, to grieve is to expect somebody’s return, but a dead person isn’t coming back, so what you could only do is to stare at the tombstone, as if it were to look at a past history.
Meaning’s Metamorphosis
The beauty of language lies in its cultural variance, shifting in symbols and intonations across localities and nations. But what becomes of beauty when its met with foreign counterparts? Misunderstanding boils like a bubbling stew. Wars are waged, conflict spits in the face of peace, and blood is spent. Enter translation, where differing tongues find common ground, utilized in various social affairs that span across empires and ages throughout history.
Dear Self
You murmur to yourself, “I want to give up. I want to end this suffering.” You were smiling on the outside, yet you’re not okay on the inside. Your friends think you're fine, but you know that you aren’t. Your thoughts raced and came to tell you things that destroyed you. You told yourself that you are not worthy to live. You kept telling yourself that nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.
Second Parents
To my second parents away from home,
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow: The Tenses of A Pressed Lens
Those who do not remember the past are bound to repeat it. Such a phrase is an age-old warning that has transcended the changes of time and has fallen deaf to some ears. It is a reminder that while injuries heal and cease to bleed, it leaves scars that symbolize resistance to the weapons that forcefully attempt to wound the hands and silence the voices that simply aim to share and speak truths, no matter how unpleasant they are.
The Department of Communications, Linguistics, and Literature of the University of San Carlos offers interest-based programs for those who are passionate in journalism, language, and the written word.
We're hirinG!
If you are an aspiring wordsmith looking to push your creative potential to unimaginable heights, a photojournalist looking for their next picture-perfect moment, or a graphic artist/designer seeking for an outlet to express their art, then HALANGDON is the place for you! Come and join us as we challenge ourselves to new frontiers!
