Late at night, when the world is finally quiet, the weight of missed chances settles on my chest— a slow-burn ache, like a bulb dying after years of strain, fading into a darkness I never thought I’d face.

It’s been four years since we first spoke. Three since we last met. It's been two weeks since we last spoke. One night, since I couldn’t keep you off my mind. I think about the first time we spoke over text. My heart was pounding out of my chest, just trying to say hello. It was almost as if my body knew what you would mean to me.

“Okay Class, turn your papers in.” It’s already 9 in the evening, and this is the last meeting for the class. One final reach of the semester, and it is done; we become free to do whatever we want. The pressure of deadlines is gone, and one can spend time with their friends and family once again. Right?

Begin by identifying what you can afford to lose. Start with the soft things — sleep, serenity, the small slices of sweetness that once made your days feel breathable. These are the easiest offerings, pliant as fruit left too long in the sun. They slip from your grasp without protest, and you convince yourself their absence is proof of progress. Loss becomes your liturgy; sacrifice your silent rite.

I have a confession—Mapúa Makati wasn’t my first choice. Some days, regret hits me like static across a screen. The last class ends, the hallways grow quiet, and I feel the weight of my own decision pressing down on my chest. I wasn’t forced here. I chose Mapúa myself. I turned away from Saint Benilde. And yet… I can’t help asking: Why did I settle?

There’s a particular hour where the atmosphere is uneasy, and a cold chill breeze sweeps throughout the campus; usually, that’s when the ghosts come out. It shadows everyone. It walks with me in and out of classes on the same path I’ve taken a hundred times. I have been accustomed to this kind of ghost. I sense it in the eyes of strangers and friends.

Within the halls of red and gold, the sun sets with bursting colors. You can’t help but look around you and see all the hues start to blur. Where the Cardinal flies freely, an archer’s arrow blazes past. The eagle’s cries are loud and clear; tigers roar and sunflowers bloom

Madalang lang kitang maisip bandang ala-una Kumakain kasi ako no'n, lunch kasama tropa Pag alas dos naman, balik gawain na Susulat ng report, o babalik sa Mapúa.

They say Mapúa shapes strong people, but no one warns you that strength starts with breaking. Walking in a campus full of students who seem so sure, I’m left facing the question that cuts the deepest, “Am I really surviving… or am I just barely holding myself together?”

I was, frankly, having a terrible day. I pulled an all-nighter to finish an assignment, fell asleep around 4 in the morning, and ended up missing my third class while I caught up on some sleep in the library. Now it's the end of the day, and it's raining. I just so happen to be one of the unlucky few who did not have an umbrella with me. It's all coming up sunshine and butterflies for me today.

Isang araw sa buwan ng Agosto Pumasok nang walang paninigurado Landas na tinahak na aking punla Tatlong taong bubonoin. Bagong lugar, bagong paligid

Begin by identifying what you can afford to lose. Start with the soft things — sleep, serenity, the small slices of sweetness that once made your days feel breathable. These are the easiest offerings, pliant as fruit left too long in the sun. They slip from your grasp without protest, and you convince yourself their absence is proof of progress. Loss becomes your liturgy; sacrifice your silent rite.

Colors are binary. The common blue for boys, Pink for girls— A deviation is unordinary But what of hues do they never name? Ones that burn brighter

Staring at the newly lodged door in my room, my curiosity grows each passing second. I can't recall this being here at all; it stands out fr

Sun rays burned on my skin as I walked through an overused path. Bushes well-trimmed, trees that great day as the weather did not betray. I

Behind the wooden door, someone paces the room. A person showing signs of discomfort, A soul deep in thought, Unfamiliar with the storm quie

All my mother ever wanted was to survive. When she was born, the only family heirloom she could pass on was ambition. There was no money to the family name, no land to inherit—there was only grit and desire to be more than this little hometown, to be more than this provincial life

I miss the lightning, the thunder so frightening, the sky so loud I’m crumbling, the moonlight so settling. I heard the screams once again,

In an instance where an angel would appear in my dreams to ask for what my heart yearns for, I would wish for a universe where I wouldn’t be

The world drowns in a spectrum of colors. Colors as bright as the daylight, catching your attention with their striking hues. Colors as dark