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By CJ Mendoza
The first father that died in our family was my uncle-in-law. In the middle of the night, our land-line phone rang and the voice at the other end of the line asked for my mom. After a short conversation, my mom packed some stuff and my dad went to start the car. It was my aunt who had called. She wanted my parents to come to the hospital; my uncle had had a heart attack. I thought nothing of it and went back to sleep.
By Maria Katreena Saguid
The idea came like a wild dream when I was a child. The kid I was, I didn’t give it much thought. And the next thing I knew, I had become too busy entertaining myself with the adventures I came up with, of things that never really happened. I was too young back then. Too innocent to realize how absurd it was for a little girl to rise to fame by writing.
By Frances Anne Suico
If you had to pick a career right now, what would it be? One that’d take you places or one that’d find you a home? One that’d make you feel useful or one that’d make you a lot of money? One that’d surround you with people or one that’d allow you your own world?
By Michelli Carmel Collado
When I graduated from college, I sent my resumé to dozens of employers all over the United States. In time I received a call from a big financial firm in New York City. The very next day, I hopped on a bus at Boston’s South Station and travelled straight to the Big Apple. Bright-eyed and eager, I showed up for the interviews along with about 30 other people. By the third interview, there were only five of us left.
By Marnelli R. Bangloy
You open your social network account and browse through your network’s newsfeed. You get frustrated as you scroll down and get lost in a traffic of news updates that you don’t even care about, not a single bit. You are bombarded with bits and pieces of information about your friends’ mundane living. You read why he was late for work, what new lipstick shade she bought yesterday, or what he had for lunch. If you’re lucky, there will be a photo that comes with that.
By Jamela Mallare
I lit a candle the shade of blue outside St. Peter Parish Church on Commonwealth Avenue. The blaring of horns and the sound of the engines of passing jeepneys and buses might as well have ruptured my eardrums, but I became oblivious to stimulus of any kind the minute I started praying. My prayer was simple, yet I could not bear the way it consumed me. I wanted to subdue the sobbing, even for only a moment, but I couldn’t. I could have attempted with a box of tissues until the tears ran dry, yet even if I succeeded, I knew the weeping would just get louder inside, almost insanely, each and every time.
By André Confiado
“Nosebleed ka, André” was one of the first new expressions I learned when I entered university here in the Philippines. I asked why, and they replied, “It’s because you speak straight English, and with a twang.” This in a university which, I soon learned, had a reputation for having many “English speakers.” Whenever I spoke in Tagalog I was made fun of because, according to my interlocutors, I sounded like I was 40 years old. I thought to myself, “This is going to be quite an adjustment,” in spite of the fact that I am, technically, a Filipino.
By Jose Benigno Aquino Gonzales
I will probably never let go of the idea that I did not have a chance to say goodbye. I like it when people tell me that they’re leaving. When I was a kid, I would get mad at my parents whenever they would leave the house without saying goodbye.
By Ralph T. Sy Siong Kiao
What did I achieve during my summer vacation? I joined nongovernment organizations fighting for various causes.
This 90-year-old “High Blood” would like to commend two recent “Youngblood” contributors and offer them my congratulations for voicing their views on crucial matters affecting them and their generation.
By Chelsea Eichel R. Dauz
As an avid follower of Youngblood since grade school, I promised myself a long time ago that I would submit my own article when I turned 18 years old. Now I am writing to fulfill that promise, and to share my story. I don’t know why I waited until I turned 18 before writing for [...]
By Raiza Michaella Kasilag
THREE YEARS into the university, I have found myself slipping into that black hole of being a slave to my grades a couple of times. When your professor tells you to forget about the grade you’ll get, that is a breath of fresh air. It reminds me of the student I sometimes fail to be. [...]