Wednesday, July 17

Photo of the Week

Photo of the Week (08/14/2016)

Photo of the Week (08/14/2016)

Photo of the Week
Ang kamay kong hawak ni mama ay nangangati nang magpumiglas. Nagsasawa na ako sa sagot niyang “hindi pwede" habang pinipilit ko siyang payagan akong sumakay sa ride. Gusto kong malaman kung anong tumatakbo sa isip ng isang taong nag-aasam na maabot ang langit kahit alam niyang anumang oras, siya ri’y babagsak. Mas mangingibabaw pa rin ba ang takot niya kaysa galak? Ang ideya na ito ang nagtulak sa akin na bitawan si mama at kumaripas ng takbo. Bawat hakbang palayo sa kanya ay bumibigat ang aking loob. Nilingon ko siya at nakita ang takot at galit sa kanyang mga mata. Hindi na nagkaroon si mama ng pagkakataong mahabol ako nang agad akong umupo sa ride at hindi nagdalawang isip na isuot ang seatbelt. Ilang saglit pa’y dahan-dahan akong umakyat hanggang sa maabot ko ang tuktok kung saan m
Photo of the Week (07/31/2016)

Photo of the Week (07/31/2016)

Photo of the Week
Cosmologists theorize that there is an infinite number of universes. Across one side of an argentine pavilion lies a park filled with lush fields of grass alongside a concrete pavement and trees embellished with scintillating lights. At night, couples chat and sit down either on a cleaved trunk of a tree or on the lawn as students pass by in this dimension. Yet in another dimension, the soil might have been barren, the sparkle might have gone out, and the pairs might have gone home, unaware of each other’s existence, leaving the park in the shadows. F Words by ZYMON ARVINDALE R. DYKEE Photo by KATRINA MAE H. MARCOS
Photo of the Week (07/24/2016)

Photo of the Week (07/24/2016)

Photo of the Week
Island Hopping Three specks of mossy green behind her, she wonders, both legs dangling off the edge of the running motorboat, What would happen if islands could have memories like humans do? Would the first island remember the way its seaweeds twice her arm length tickled her cheeks and ears as she dove in deeper to get closer to a school of grey fish each the size of her fist? Would the second island remember her palms delving through the coarse earth for sand dollars of various colors— from ivory to graphite-grey— that she planned to take to the city? Would the third island remember the shifting of her legs and the wiggling of her toes as she buried them under the white sand almost as fine as baby powder? Yet if islands were to have memories like hum
Photo of the Week (07/17/2016)

Photo of the Week (07/17/2016)

Photo of the Week
When dusk begins, the city starts talking. Buildings whisper stories to sidewalks; stories about lonely office workers and people who drop their cups of coffee while running to work. Roads groan in pain due to the new construction project that they don’t even need. The city talks while we lay asleep in our beds. It talks about how frightened it is when dawn begins: when we start gossiping near the office walls, or causing accidents in streets. It fears our destructive impulses and our habits of tearing it apart. The city fears us. That’s why it never sleeps. F Words by CORHEINNE JOYCE B. COLENDRES Photo by KATHLEEN MAE I. GUERRERO
Encapsulating

Encapsulating

Photo of the Week
This is home. No matter what, this is home. I close my eyes—I hear the low birdsong floating over the roaring of earthbound engines and feel the tension between earth and sky holding me still. I don't mind the people in the same way they don't mind me. We all suffer from different agonies. There is a certain force, an internal pain, which I feel. This pain may just be a blip in the universe, but it is, at the same time, enormous. I need to rest. Let me rest. Let me heal, for a while, in my home. Words by ANDREA JAMAICA H. JACINTO Photo by LORENZO ABEL S. DIONISIO Ignite your intellectual senses! Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter: abtheflame Visit us at
In This Place Where Light Never Sleeps

In This Place Where Light Never Sleeps

Photo of the Week
I was fourteen when stories about the success of my distant cousins were prepared on the dining table—broiled with flying colors and marinated with high paying-jobs I wouldn’t dare to taste. The sciences the main dish. Engineering the leanest of all meat while law is just another appetizer. But I was too mesmerized with my own plate that I did not care to eat, just to contemplate the greenness of the greens, how plain and domestic rice is, how the meat feels like rubber between my molars and how the glass seems half-empty, not half-full. The dessert course those in-demand, always poured over with caramelized sugar. And as they feast on these cuisines, privately, my mind was already off the dinner and into my grandfather’s bedtime stories that when other people close their eyes to sleep