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.
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.
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow: The Tenses of A Pressed Lens Read More »
Power became the strenuous race to silence information; for in it lay the essence of discourse. And to essentially sever it was to completely veer it off its course and annihilate any possible opposition to his cause, until he closes the system in his fist. The solution now becomes arithmetic, the sum of the three: fear, misinformation, silence.
Ritch Martel Ritch Martel A soul with a few to say, or write. Lover of the sun. Twitter Ritch as a Writer Features SICK COUNTRY Power became the strenuous race to silence information; for in it lay the essence of discourse. And to essentially sever it was to completely veer it off its course and annihilate any possible opposition to his cause, until he closes the system in his fist. The solution now becomes arithmetic, the sum of the three: fear, misinformation, silence. Ritch MartelSeptember 21, 2025 [Name] as an Artist Traditional Art / Caricatures Layouting Photography DCLL Features FRIDAY FEATURETTES Literature Corner News The Cebuano Memoriam The End Word The Lingua Franca Compendium Wednesdays of Tomorrow Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Features Features Literature Corner Features DCLL Features FRIDAY FEATURETTES Literature Corner News The Cebuano Memoriam The End Word The Lingua Franca Compendium Wednesdays of Tomorrow Read More DCLL Features FRIDAY FEATURETTES Literature Corner News The Cebuano Memoriam The End Word The Lingua Franca Compendium Wednesdays of Tomorrow Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Read More Features Features Literature Corner Features DCLL Features FRIDAY FEATURETTES Literature Corner News The Cebuano Memoriam The End Word The Lingua Franca Compendium Wednesdays of Tomorrow Read More
When I give my heart out to someone and they turn it down
I often take a moment to look at it
I saw the scars that were once deep cuts that fully healed
The broken pieces that I so desperately glued back together
And the bruises that never left its mark
It looks ugly, it looks beaten, but it has always been mine.
It’s Not a Heart Problem Read More »
Cebu really is a small, small world. Every now and then, malls and parks felt like one big game of hide-and-seek from people I went to highschool with or college blockmates I avoided like the plague. Sometimes I’d see the hyperactive boy who sat beside me in the fourth grade, and I’d run the opposite direction. Though, for some reason, I can never leave. Every song on the radio is the same, after all, but even if a spry group of friends dream big enough to fill stadiums and fields, it’ll be the same four chords.
Habang nagtatanghilain kami nabanggit ng aking ama ang sumusunod:
“Gusto kong mahirapan siya, gusto kong maparusa siya.”
Ang taong tinutukoy ng tatay ko ay isang lalaking maraming beses na naging sentro ng iilang pag-uusap at pakikipagtalo tuwing kumakain. Halos isang dekada na kaming mag-ama, maging kaming buong pamilya, na nag aaway at nadadala sa sigaw dahil sa iisang tao na ito. Isang tao na kamakailan lang ay walang sawang paghahanga at kung minsa’y pagsasamba sakanya ang nagagawa ng pamilya ko, lalo na ang papa ko. Isang tao na sa tatlumpu’t taong niyang pagiiral sa dyaryo at isipan ng mga Pilipino, ay tunay na nagbigay kahulugan kung anong klaseng bansa at samakatuwid, anong klaseng tao tayo. Ang taong nais makita ng aking ama maghirap at maparusahan ay si Rodrigo Duterte.
Sino ang Dapat Managot? Read More »
Whenever somebody finds out that I am a lesbian, it always garners a mixed bag of reactions. Some people would immediately have this expression on their face like things suddenly clicked into place, while others would have such a huge reaction like they weren’t expecting me to be one. It was sort of understandable, given that I never really… look like a lesbian? Maybe it’s the lack of carabiners.
The Future is Lesbian! Read More »
When I was born, I wasn’t a woman, but a blank canvas. But because of my sex, I was already assigned the role of a woman before I could even pronounce my name. The physician who tended to me likely wondered what kind of husband I would have in the future, and my parents probably speculated how many children I would give birth to someday, even when they only held a creature with no sense of self-identity in their arms.
The Odyssey: What Maketh Women Read More »
