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SLU Daily Dose, Saint Louis University, Baguio City (2025)

31/10/2025

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗿𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗮

I was killed by my own faith. Not because I committed any sin, but because I was blinded and burned by the fire of 𝗹𝘂𝘀𝘁 wrapped in holiness.

I am Matilda, devout, pure, and obedient–raised to fear God and regarded as the light among others. I belonged to a religious community I once called home. And in that home, our “Father” served as the voice of God. “Father” taught us that obedience was the highest virtue, that every command must be followed and never questioned.

I was six years old when my parents entrusted me to him, hoping I would receive protection and blessings. Every night, we were ordered, along with other children, to go to “Father’s” room to receive blessings from God. With every caress, kiss, and firm touch, we were made to believe it was sacred and never to be refused.

When it was already my turn, my body would always tremble in fear. I endured it because he said it was the will of God, and whoever resisted would be punished and have no place in heaven.

But as time passed, it was as if my eyes, long forced to stay blind, slowly began to open. Little by little, I was enlightened by the truth. The “blessings” that “Father” spoke of were never from God—they were nothing but acts of depravity. My sisters in faith were treated as toys, used only for his personal pleasure. The “donations” from the members of the community, which were said to be for church projects, were spent for selfish desires. These truths felt like a rope tightening around my neck. I wanted to escape. But with that desire came the fears and constant threats that I would be cursed by God if I ever left our community.

Months passed, and the thoughts never left my mind. I could no longer endure the repeated lust and deception. I was not powerful, and I knew I had no strength to fight back. But the rage I felt gave me the courage to resist.

One night, carrying photographs and evidence that would expose the abuse, I decided to go to the authorities. I had already planned my escape, but before I could get far from the chapel, I saw familiar faces. I approached them, believing we were fighting for the same cause. Yet with my hopeful greeting came the sudden flow of red liquid from my side. It burned and throbbed with pain, as metal pierced the flesh, but what hurt more was the betrayal of those I once called my brothers in the “home” I had known. And just like that, with my final breath came the vanishing of the justice I never received.

Now, when night falls, no one dares to pass by the old chapel. Anyone who does hears the haunting sobs of a woman, followed by their own cries for mercy, until they lose their sanity. Every day, candles are offered for me–candles with flames that never live long enough to illuminate. They say it is because I am still filled with anger, not because I was denied justice, but because the abuse never ceased. Young girls continue to be offered “in the name of God,” and those who try to escape are silenced and threatened.

I do not need thousands of candles—I need justice and an end to greed. I do not long for forgiveness, but for the awakening of those who still sleep in blind faith. My death was not only because of lust, but because of the corruption that festers within deceitful religion.

So when you hear the cry from the old chapel, know that it is not a ghost. It is the voice of women devoured by lies, pleading for the living to find the courage to end the hell created by the falsely holy.

[D]

by Vanessa
graphics by Ivan Cruz

31/10/2025

Not every storm is loud. Some storms happen quietly—inside the mind.

This October, we observed Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) Awareness Month, shining a light on voices often unheard and telling the stories behind every overlooked sign and quiet struggle.

This year's theme, "The Many Faces of ADHD," reminds us that no two experiences are the same. It can be loud and disruptive, or quiet and hidden. It can show up in classrooms, workplaces, or relationships in subtle ways. And each story deserves to be heard. It's more than just a month on the calendar; it's a chance to open our hearts and minds to the many ways ADHD touches lives.

But awareness shouldn't end when October does.

Everyone loses focus or struggles to sit still sometimes. But for people with ADHD, these moments aren't occasional; they're part of daily life. It can feel like their minds are constantly buzzing, even in complete silence.

Imagine trying to focus on one thought while your brain pulls you toward ten others. That's what ADHD often feels like. Because its symptoms aren't always visible, it is frequently misunderstood. ADHD affects how a person thinks, feels, and behaves. It often involves inattention (trouble focusing), hyperactivity (being very active), and impulsivity (acting without thinking).

Despite how real and challenging ADHD is, people who live with it often face disbelief, as if their struggles aren't valid. They're unfairly labeled as lazy, careless, or told they're just not trying hard enough. Some are even told their diagnosis isn't "real." These misconceptions can be as damaging as the symptoms themselves, creating feelings of shame and frustration.

But ADHD isn't just about struggle. It's also about seeing the world differently.

Many studies show that people with ADHD are often very creative, curious, and imaginative. Their quick thinking helps them come up with new ideas and different ways to solve problems. What might look like distraction is sometimes the spark of a new idea forming.

The ADHD brain doesn't work the wrong way—it works in its own way.

According to the National Library of Medicine, while most people are diagnosed in childhood, many don't realize the signs until adulthood. Getting diagnosed later in life can bring a rush of emotions: relief from finally having answers, surprise at what's been missed, and a new understanding of the challenges they've faced for years.

Understanding ADHD means looking past stereotypes, being patient, and accepting people's differences. When we show kindness instead of judging, and ask questions instead of assumptions, we can build a world where all minds can claim their place and aim.

True change begins when we open our hearts to all minds, including those with ADHD—not as flawed, but as beautifully one of a kind. Only then can all faces of ADHD truly shine.

[D]

by Ruth Mae Yadao
layout by Aldrin Polo Agdeppa

31/10/2025

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗘𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗼

The 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘁𝗵 of those in power drowned us before the flood ever came.

I am Mang Ernesto, once a fisherman of Barangay San Isidro—a man who knew the rhythm of the river better than the sound of his own heartbeat. We lived quietly, trusting that the waters would keep feeding us as long as we respected it. But respect, I’ve learned, is not shared by all.

The officials who were meant to protect us ignored the warning murmurs of the dam’s cracked wall, the failing sewer drains, and the water that creeps onto your ankles at the lightest sprinkle of rain. They smiled, nodded, and said “aayusin namin ‘yan.” They said the drainage project was “ongoing,” the relocation site “almost ready,” and the new warning system “under procurement.” But we never saw a single shovel move. Days passed. Weeks passed. And soon, it wasn’t only the dam that broke—it was the trust that held our lives together.

The heat of each passing moment festered with the dismay within the hearts of our people. In the summer's sunscorched touch, the struggle of making it to the next day only got harder to ignore. It revealed our every vulnerability. Even as our voices scream unto the heights capable of change, no voice echoed back with aid. All we knew then was that our town and people, scorned and uncared for, would soon have their rage washed away below a tempest born of inaction.

The rain came hard that week, pounding the tin roofs like the restless knocking of guilt. My daughter begged me to leave, to take little Anya to her aunt’s place uphill. But no evacuation order came, and the mayor’s men said everything was “under control.” I believed them—perhaps because believing was easier than fearing. They said the budget was delayed, that “papers were still pending approval,” and that nature was simply testing our faith. Each night, the river rose higher, and I could feel its anger through the floorboards. Still, I stayed. Maybe that was my sin too: to wait for action from those who had long forgotten how to move.

Each passing day was eclipsed by that endless storm, each night favored no better. No light could shine through the ceaseless cold and dark, it called to swallow us whole as the water crept to reach our necks.The voice in my mind had cried louder than the storm outside my hut, begging for an end, yet only the devil answered my prayers that night. One final crack sealed the fate of our lives, with the dam’s walls finally faltering and with death rushing through the town. Each life was carried away in the path of this force of nature.

In my desperation, I had lifted Anya with every strength I had; fighting against the current of the streets drowned in flood. As my legs forced through the storm, I saw only the rain against me, knowing I would die before I saved this girl. Yet even before my body could feel it, I was overcome, sinking into stupor as my last sight would be seeing her body swept along the torrent’s wake.

When the water finally calmed, I found myself standing among ruins, unseen and unheard. The living came with cameras, flashing lights, and words of comfort rehearsed from their podiums. They called it a natural disaster, as if nature had been the one sitting idly in an air-conditioned office while the dam begged for repair. I watched as sacks of rice were distributed to the same few families whose faces appeared on posters during election season. The rest waited—as we always did—for help that never came. The broken drainage was covered again with tarpaulins labeled “Project Coming Soon.” Even in tragedy, their laziness found a way to look busy.

Their sins never stain. It washes away along with the lives of the innocent. With this thought, I stand before her grave, knowing that each person-made victim lingers only to mourn. I think now, as the sun shines on this ruined town, we are all still drowning–engulfed by an endless apathy as power laughs dry and safe upon their ivory tower. Even in my despair, I can't blame the storm for the aftermath of its arrival; for nature could never be as cruel as man.

They say we died in the flood. No—we died in the silence that came before it. My regret is not the water that took me, but the years I spent trusting men who turned negligence into habit. I remain here, watching the river flow past the broken bridge and the new promises built beside it. The same officials stand before the cameras, smiling as if they had learned.

Until then, I will linger—not to haunt, but to remind. Perhaps one day, the living will understand that sloth is not the absence of work, but the refusal to care.

If only I had also cared enough.

[D]

by Jade Abaya and Charles Gonzales
graphics by Imari Hernando

30/10/2025

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗥𝗶𝗯𝗯𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗘𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲

Mama says only bad guys have something called ‘𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱’, but from six feet below, I could still see grown-ups reaching for shiny things even when their hands are already too full to hold them. I just hope that they won’t take my favorite white ribbon too, even if it’s brown and yucky from the running flood…‘cause the government lady already had tons of those on her ears in the ‘big meeting!’

My name is Evangeline, a six-year-old little girl from a little town far, far away from the city.
Mama named me because I would grow as her little teller of the good and the bestest of news! She would smile and tie my long, long hair every morning in our tiny wooden house by the big river, while I watched the carabaos making funny sounds in our large backyard.

Just then, these big walls were built beside the river, tall and unfinished, almost as tall as mango trees. Mama promised me that these were to protect us, that we wouldn’t have to run to the “evakyuweyshon center.” I believed her. Back then, Mama was always right.

After a week, I saw the government lady again in the big meeting on our TV. She was “apprehended” (I asked Mama about what the word meant, and she said that it was when the police caught the bad guys) for "corruption" (Mama told me it was a word for stealing people’s money) of the flood control projects in our area, like the dams near ours.

At first, I thought she was like me–we both have white ribbons! But Mama told me I was wrong, that mine was cleaner, purer, that Mama worked hard to get that ribbon for me, and that the same can’t be said to that government lady. Then, she held my hand tightly and said to me, “Naku, kapag lumaki ka, matuto kang makuntento sa lahat ng bagay na mayroon ka. Huwag kang gagaya sa mga taong katulad nila na masyadong makasarili at kumukuha sa pera natin, ha? Ni piso dapat pahalagahan mo. Kung hindi sa’yo, huwag mong kukunin,” I didn’t really understand a thing back then, but I remember thinking really hard that I don’t want to be like that government lady…and now I know, I will never, ever be like her.

After that, the rain just kept coming more and more, like the clouds forgot how to stop crying. The “news guy” on TV said that a very big, big, big storm was on our way, and that it was coming earlier than expected, but the power went out before he finished talking. Mama was gently brushing and tying my hair at the time to calm me down from the loud scary sounds of the thunder minutes later. I remember her saying that the very big walls from outside would protect us, and that was when I first felt it—the water had already reached our house, and it was already above our anc–unk–ankles (my teacher taught me the spelling just last week).

In the darkness, Mama quickly carried me into the bedroom and told me to stay where I was on the bed while she got our ‘emergency bag’. As she was getting our bags, all of a sudden, I felt the water hit me hard and push me off the bed all over in big, giant waves. I shouted as hard as I could for Mama, my arms reaching out for her really, really hard. The only thing I could reach for at the moment was my white ribbon, and I held it so tightly so that it wouldn’t break.
I just wish that I had hung on stronger to my Mama’s arm before the big, big waves knocked us over. I just wish that holding my white ribbon was enough to save me, but I didn’t feel anything the moment I let go of Mama’s hand. The few things my eyes could find in those last moments were my soggy and muddy drawings, pieces of my toys floating, and my tied white ribbon almost losing its pieces. But I couldn’t breathe. I tried and I tried until everything went black.

Morning came, and I saw Mama again! She and some people in yellow were rushing straight to where I was. Mama cried really, really hard when she hugged me closely, like she didn’t want to let me go. And I wanted that too. I wanted to hold out my arms and reach her for a hug–but I couldn’t. I wanted to say, “Mama, I love you! Okay na ako ngayon, magkasama na uli tayo, mama!” but no words came out. It was almost as if I was in a nightmare, that even if I’d want to move–I couldn’t. I’m stuck, and I can't do anything.

I sniffled and I cried, but no tears or sounds ever came out. The only thing I could do was cry on the inside, as I lay in Mama’s lap frozen like a statue. Mama then reached for my white ribbon, now all stained, soiled, and muddy, and held it next to her head as we both cried for each other.

I was supposed to be a “teller of the good news.” But where is the “good” in all of this pain? Now, even from six feet below, I could still see grown-ups taking things that aren’t theirs, bragging about all of the big and shiny stuff that they took from other people. Except, no one said sorry, no one said sorry for hurting me and Mama.

I am Evangeline, an ordinary Filipino child who was hurt by the grown-ups who lie and cheat through their “I-know-something-you don’t” smiles. I want Mama to be told of good news from me again–even if it’s only in her dreams, even if I’m only holding onto my now soiled ribbon.

[D]

by Gabriel Robson Marty
graphics by Kian Wyz Apellido

30/10/2025

ERRATUM: It was incorrectly stated that the SONAHBS Women’s Basketball Team defeated SEA, 88–30. The correct opponent was SOM.

Additionally, Kevin Vinluan should also be credited for the photos.

The post is already uneditable due to the number of photos uploaded, but this serves as the official correction.

We apologize for the oversight.

[D]

30/10/2025

RECAP: The second week of Saint Louis University (SLU) Intramurals brought a wave of intense matchups to the School of Nursing, Allied Health, and Biological Sciences (SONAHBS), as each team faced its share of triumphs and challenges across various tournaments.

On the hardcourt, the Men’s Basketball Team faced ups and downs, beginning with a stinging loss to STELA on October 20 (85-90). They ended their slump and regained momentum with a dominant win against SOL on October 22 (95-67). However, their push was halted after a tough defeat to SEA on October 26 (69-109). Meanwhile, the Women’s Team displayed unmatched composure and dominance, crushing STELA (62-29) and later routing SEA (88-30) to stay undefeated in the pool.

This week's matches between the Men's and Women's Volleyball Teams filled the courts with tension and grit. The Men’s Team impressed with a series of victories, outlasting SAS on October 21 (2-1), sweeping SOL on October 26 (2–0), overpowering SAMCIS on October 27 (2–0), and sealing their finals berth after a commanding victory over STELA on October 28 (2–0). The Women’s Team, however, faced defeats, losing to SOM (0–2) and SEA (0–2).

The games on the field and on the board also concluded as the SONAHBS Track and Field and Chess teams wrapped up their campaigns with podium results, October 26.

Out in the field, the Track and Field Team displayed endurance and determination. In the men's race, Labrie Cantillo finished 6th in the 3000m run (14:37), Joseph Vince Lopez placed 5th in the 800m run (2:56), and Vonn Colbongan sprinted to 6th in the 100m sprint (13.69s). The relay team finished 4th (55.54s), while Niccolo Ozo (4.15m) and Andre Josh Tupeng (5.18m) both landed 4th place finishes in running long jump and shot put. The Women’s Team shined as Alexa Shein Bilog dominated the 3000m run to clinch the championship title (14:55). Carrene Birao sprinted to 2nd in the 100m dash, while Jana Pia Calicdan finished 6th in the 800m run (5:01). The relay team battled hard to secure 4th place (1:07.63), while Lovely Joy Dulay nearly touched the podium in running long jump, finishing 4th (2.97m). Bilog also competed impressively in shot put, placing 6th (2.97m).

In the intense chess matches, Women’s Jyrelle Sibit nailed a 3rd place finish with four tactical wins, outmaneuvering her competition with sharp openings and strong endgames. Her gameplay kept spectators on edge as she capitalized on every blunder. Christoph Cuison battled through the men’s bracket with an even record of 3 wins and 3 losses, finishing in 4th place. His strategic plays and resilience made for a competitive showing, keeping the tournament wide open.

[D]

by Jenrich Marcelo
photos by Leobile Gulloy, Ronalyn Junio, Precious Binegas, Marcus Augustus Layugan, Austin Diamond Galvez, Brittany Amanda Ticman, Bea Dela Peña, Candace Beltran, Franz Jaydiene Philip Guinum, Jhamire Bumanlag, and Trixzy De Leon

29/10/2025

RESULTS: SEA proved to be tough for the SONAHBS Women's Volleyball team as they fell behind in the match, 0-2.

[D]

by Aldos Paulo
photo by Leobile Gulloy

29/10/2025

NOW: The Culminating Mass for the Rosary and Mission month is currently taking place at the Prince Bernhard (PB) Gym for students and faculty of the School of Nursing, Allied Health, and Biological Sciences (SONAHBS) this afternoon, October 29.

With the theme: “Rekindling Missionary Spirit Through the Example Of Mother Mary”, this annual ceremony aims to strengthen the two core values of Saint Louis University (SLU) among the Louisian community, namely Christian Spirit and Social Involvement, which promotes spiritual growth and development.

[D]

by Esther Asaph Yaos
photos by Precious Binegas and Krysanthe Jazzell Castro

29/10/2025

SONAHBS Women's Volleyball Team seeks to regain their footing as they face SEA at the Bishop Carlito Cenzon D.D Sports Center today, October 29, 5:30 PM.

[D]

by Aldos Paulo
photo by Leobile Gulloy

28/10/2025

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗕𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗢𝗿𝗼 𝗔𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗼

This 𝘄𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗵 burned its way into my retinas and blinded everyone around me.

𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟴. The phone rang in unison with my migraine as I begrudgingly answered. “Hello, ma?” Clearly, she caught me at a bad time. Any time is a bad time with everything that has happened recently. “Apay anya ti araramiden na dagituy naka-uniporme dituy manen! (What are these people in uniforms doing here again!)” Her voice continued to add to the ringing I felt. “Kunak man nu nakasau mun isuda? Haan da dapat agminminas ta awan ti ustu nga permit da! (I thought you talked to them? They shouldn’t be mining because they don’t have the right permits!)”

Biting my tongue in situations like this has always been my go to. Boss, mom, all the same. It’s just better to shut-up until they do. Once she finished, that’s when I explained for what could be the hundredth time. “Mama, awan maaramid ku. Haan ko mabalin nga kasao ni boss ko nga kasla kasta. Amum met dayta. Maikatak ti trabaho. (Mama, I can’t do anything. I can’t talk to my boss like that. You know that. They’ll fire me from my job.)”

𝗘𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟱, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟴. Drills unearthed the generational minerals hiding away beneath the sediment. The sky refracted orange, yellow, and purple hues as dawn barely broke through. Speaking of breaking through, they are at it again.

“Haan kami nga agbutteng kinyayo! (We are not afraid of you!)”

“Haan yu nga bagi dagitoy nga bantay! (These mountains are not yours!)”

“No to illegal mining!”

My eyes honed in on one person in particular. My mother. My sickly, frail, yet stubborn mother. She leads the mob in front of the barricades. Her words rattle and echo that of our ancestors' past. She shouts as if her lungs can take it, as if she isn’t suffering from a disease. The one that I’m slaving away to the bone to cure.

Who cares about the employee of the month? I only do it for my mother and my family. As if she could hear me, however, our eyes connect and it was like I could hear her question beneath the noise, “Anak, anya ti piliim? (Son, what will you choose?)”

I got off that reverie as soon as I heard the jackals I call my colleagues laugh. They bob their heads up and down as this was the same “pointless” routine these natives did for the past few weeks. Same noise. Same whines. Same demands. Mountain natives have been protesting the supposed illegal mining our corporation has done.

We have the permits. We have the papers. But I know that they were rigged. Afterall, one look in my eyes shows that I am one of them. Golden irises that resemble dried wheat and the rising sun. Getting a permit means asking permission from the people who own the land: nothing of that sort was done. My higher-ups knew, I bet they get reminded of that every day I go to work. But they won't do anything, because even I won't do anything. Or at least I can’t.

𝗠𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟯𝟬, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟴. I visited home as per routine and was greeted with shouts and clashing dishes. “Nagpuskul ti rupam nga agsubli dituy! Apay nga kasla han mo amu ti kinadakes na ti aramid yu? (You have the audacity to come back here! Why is it that it’s as if you don’t know the evil of what you do?)”

Spirits probably possessed my soul that night. Everything was a blur. Intoxicated is the word. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was angry. I was upset. I didn’t know why everything felt like it should all be weighed on me when everyone knew or should have known that I could do nothing. I am just a worker, a godforsaken trowel forced to keep digging. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn't. I didn’t know my hand was grabbing the grip. I didn't know that I was already feeling the trigger. I didn't know that my eyes turned a shade of blood red.

I didn't know mama.

𝟯:𝟬𝟬 𝗔𝗠, 𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟯, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟴. I had to hide. I had to. My gold irises were a dead giveaway and if anyone from the tribe knew what I did, they would kill me. But then again I deserve it. Maybe that's why my boss chose to lead the men against me. I started this, and I should end it, as they say. Soon, cries and bodies broke through the barricade. Golden irises charged against our blood eyes and things got homicidal very quickly. It wasn’t long until they noticed one of their own; one of their kaanakan (children), kailyan (tribesmen), kabagyan (relative). What were they thinking of when they saw me with those white uniforms, I wonder? Those hardhats that meant death for the land. Perhaps I can make a guess. Because whatever they thought, was enough to remove any doubt in shooting me back.

𝟯:𝟯𝟯 𝗔𝗠, 𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟯, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟴. I’m bleeding. I’m dying. I got out of the mining pit where everyone was at war. My breath was visible against the cold air, and now I feel what Death’s grasp feels like. My hand instinctively covered the wound, clutching it as if it would stop the bleeding. The trail of iron, calcium, potassium, and magnesium that once pumped through my veins made it clear that I don't have much time left. Yet why does it feel like the peace I need? The more I think about it, laying on this grassy incline, the more I come to realize.

I know this place.

It’s Mount Parbangun, the mountain that cradles the sunrise. Well, not officially. It's the place where I used to play. The place where my toes met the soil and rocks were not precious stones but things that got in the way of my running. The place where Mama and Papa and spirits now passed dwelled. The place where toil and play and everything in between became who we are. I called it Mount Parbangun because it’s where the sun rises and that’s my name. What, surprised? My name isn't Oro Aurelio, or at least it wasn't until I started working. Parbangun is my actual name, but people outside of these mountains seem to have trouble pronouncing it. Or so they say. Oro Aurelio is what they soon called me, because of my so-called “exotic” golden eyes. You've struck gold if it shines as bright as my irises, they would say.

How did it come to this? How did I reach the point of erasing my name? How did I become a traitor? People from above said we were weak. Meek. Couldn't fight. Couldn't shout. I needed a new name to mean something of worth, something of value.

Gold.

What monster is weak and meek enough to kill their own mother? Or maybe turning into a monster just goes to show how cowardly I truly am. They were wrong about me, about the mountains. We weren’t stuck in the past. No, we were the most alive and present beings that ever stayed nestled in Nature’s hold. Despite all that, I was wrong to have trusted their judgement. Mama, I'm sorry. I'm sorry your Parbangun wasn't the dawn you wanted. I’m sorry that I wasn’t the dawn who brought the change this place needed. I’m sorry to have silenced the mountains. I’m sorry to have choked the rivers. I’m sorry I forgot who I am. I only wanted to be a good son. I wanted to chase those dreams that felt worthy of the star you named me after. I only took the job to cure you. I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m terrible. Mama-

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲: 𝟲:𝟬𝟬 𝗔𝗠, 𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟯, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟴. Indifference filled the eyes of one man in a hardhat as he saw my lifeless body. “Boss, one casualty found.” It was as if it was normal. Miniscule. A daily occurrence.

Wrath crawled into my alveolis without me noticing. Wrath filled the lungs of the tribe which stayed at peace in the mountains. All this rage and yet they stay atop their white thrones, the mountains and my family good as dead. “It's that native boy from the mountains. We’ll give the money as compensation to the golden child’s family like you asked.”

Operations continued the next day. As if a war didn’t taint these mountains. The blood of those made of gold quenched the Earth’s basin, and I was one of them. Yet despite my grave…

Everything. Stayed. Normal.

[D]

by Samai Dominique Belac
graphics by Janin Binuya

28/10/2025

RESULTS: SONAHBS Men’s Volleyball Team punched their way back into championship contention after a 2-0 victory over STELA.

[D]

by Aldos Paulo
photo by Leobile Gulloy

28/10/2025

𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗛𝗕𝗦 𝗠𝗩𝗧 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗽𝘀 𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗖𝗜𝗦, 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗵

The School of Nursing, Allied Health, and Biological Sciences (SONAHBS) Men’s Volleyball Team took yet another victory over SAMCIS, paving their way on the court with a 2-0 sweep at the Bishop Carlito Cenzon D.D. Sports Center yesterday, October 27.

The team dominated both sets, surging to 25 points with quick offensive transitions and impenetrable defense that shackled SAMCIS to 18 points in each set.

𝙍𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙨𝙩

As the only team with no loss in the elimination bracket, the School of Engineering and Architecture (SEA) is all but guaranteed a spot in the Men’s Finals.

SONAHBS and SEA share a storied history, having clashed in the 2023 Intramurals finals, where SEA clinched the championship, 1-3.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙒𝙖𝙡𝙡

The win against SAMCIS now opens the road for SONAHBS to earn a return ticket to the finals, as they look to redeem themselves from last year’s upset.

To secure that chance, SONAHBS must first overcome the School of Teacher Education and Liberal Arts (STELA), one of last year’s reigning finalists.

STELA opened their campaign with a two-game winning streak, only broken recently by the team to beat, SEA.

Both STELA and SONAHBS now hold one loss apiece, making their upcoming matchup a do-or-die game for a finals berth.

𝘼 𝙍𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙧𝙮 𝙍𝙚𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙙

SONAHBS and STELA are no strangers on the court. The two last met in the 2024 Intramurals semi-finals, where STELA blocked SONAHBS’ path to the championship with a narrow win, 31-33.

Now, the stage is set once again. The winner advances and the loser falls.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙍𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Witness the action live at the Bishop Carlito Cenzon D.D. Sports Center today, October 29, 5:30 PM.

With SONAHBS’ pace remaining razor-sharp and their chemistry at peak form, will their season once again end at the hands of STELA—or will SONAHBS secure their long-awaited return to the Men’s Finals?

[D]

by Decelyn Domingo and Aldos Paulo
photo by Leobile Gulloy

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