LitGirl

Batang Yagit for PBA Blogger’s Choice Award

admin — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 13:03:41 +0000

This is to show support to Winston Almendras of BatangYagit.com, who is nominated for the PBA Blogger’s Choice Award this year. The campaigning is very competitive and I am lending my 100% support to Winston because he’s from Mindanao and we’re from the same city.

Go Winston!!

on “girl” by jamaica kincaid

lysette — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 08:25:24 +0000

it’s one of the very few titles that i have managed to save when i had once tried to abandon the art of writing.
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the muddy road (zen parables)

lysette — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 14:50:58 +0000

Tanzan and Ekido were once traveling together down a muddy road. A heavy rain was still falling.

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from the Devil’s dictionary by: ambrose bierce

lysette — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 01:10:07 +0000

admiration
— our polite recognition of another’s resemblance to ourselves.

alone
— in bad company

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prayer by: francisco arcellana

lysette — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 11:59:34 +0000

Close all open things, Lord.
Open all closed things.
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the art of jeepney 2.0

lysette — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 11:42:49 +0000

jeepney-riding always seems to amaze me.
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the art of jeepney riding by: resil mojares

lysette — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 11:27:18 +0000

Problem: Define a failure. Answer: Someone who is still riding a jeepney after 40.

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coming home by resil mojares

lysette — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 11:07:29 +0000

When I was a child our house in Dipolog was the most imposing in the block. Built in the early 1950’s, it was — I remember — a white-painted, two-storey wooden house with arched windows and an added foyer banked by a cement wall added out to look like it was made of large, irregular blocks of stone.
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breaking through by myrna pena reyes

lysette — Sun, 24 Jun 2007 10:46:44 +0000

Haltingly I undo the knots
around your parcel that came this morning.
A small boox should require little labor,
but you’ve always been thorough,
tying things tight and well.

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aktibistang classmate by Bee de Leon

lysette — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 03:26:01 +0000

You entered the classroom and found your way to the seat a few chairs from mine. I looked at you as your put down that old, rugged bag. Dressed in a red shirt, faded jeans and a worn out pair of sneakers, I wondered to myself what had made you come to school this time.

As if reading my thoughts, you approached me and handed me a flyer. I looked ar the piece of paper and read. It was an invitation for a class walk out tomorrow. “So that’s why,” I said to myself.

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