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Salbahis, Mindanao State University/Iligan Institute of Technology, Iligan (2026)

Q: What is the address?

Mindanao State University/Iligan Institute Of Technology

09/06/2026

𝗕𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀

𝘔𝘢𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘒𝘈𝘜𝘉𝘈𝘕, 𝘮𝘢𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘐𝘐𝘛! Welcome to the 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘢𝘭 Battle of the Blanks!

The posters are up. The spotlights are on. The stage is ready. The only thing that is missing now is…well, the battle itself!

Every year in the halls of Mindanao State University-Iligan Institute of Technology (MSU-IIT), the KAUBAN General Elections are introduced as a grandiose event showcasing student democracy—a clash of platforms and personalities. Simple enough, candidates take the stage, present their setlists of plans for the student body, and the electorate decides which acts deserve the headlining spot for the rest of the academic year.

However, a developing culture in IIT takes shape—one where irony sits in the limelight as students clamor for leadership and transparency yet fail to step up when the stage is set. Turns out, it is all talk, no catwalk.

Voting is often described as the heartbeat of democracy, but it seems to be much harder to find a pulse on a one-man ballot. Between extended filing periods and repeated calls for student leaders, several positions had “competition” in name only. The stage was left looking as empty as in the past, 𝘶𝘩𝘩𝘩… maybe you should just ask the alumni for how long.

Regardless of whether half the acts never even showed up, students are still told to “vote wisely.”

Ah, yes, 𝘔𝘹. 𝘞𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺! The most consistent candidate of all, appearing election after election on every campaign poster, yet never once listed on the ballot.

Judging by the lineup, there is clearly a severe shortage of willing talents. With nearly all executive races uncontested, a missing leader in the shiver of sharks, and a total democratic blackout for the thunder of dragons, the entire election is already a—𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘵—assured victory. Since the remaining acts are all but guaranteed to headline the show anyway, voting starts to feel less like making a choice and more like ratifying a default. This leaves students with a ballot where abstaining seems like the only honest choice—that is, for those who even bother to open it at all.

It is not only a lack of interest that explains this widespread drought of candidates, but also the social risk that comes with stepping into the electoral arena itself. Candidacy exposes students to heightened scrutiny and retrospective judgment over their track record and credibility. Look no further than the MSU-IIT Cats page, where the incumbent MIDAS President’s leadership was accused of being a total myth with the conduct of the “𝘕𝘖-𝘋𝘠𝘈𝘒𝘈 2026” event.

With the student body now eagerly waiting to drag the next flop administrative performance, the seat of student leadership has become a waiting guillotine. This is further compounded by the lack of incentives for student leaders and bureaucratic processes that only intensify the pressure on those who take office.

Unlike our inability to choose between multiple candidates—the aspirants—however, have a choice to pick their poison this time.

Unfortunately, “showing up matters” is not part of the setlist.

The battle has now begun, where the real contest lies in answering a far more difficult question: when leadership duties and academic responsibilities collide, which tab will remain open? They say it requires enormous courage to stand up on the lectern and deliver a full speech. But in today’s arena, it’s a battle of who has the strongest internet connection, making an appearance when it means the most despite “𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.”

While some aspirants take the stage armed with ultra-summa-cum-laude solutions to every conceivable problem plaguing the student body, others can beam in from undisclosed locations through the miracle of modern technology. Safely protected by an emotional-support chair and the sacred phrase, “Sorry my internet lagged,” they transform every campaign appearance into a suspense thriller. Between strategic pauses, frozen expressions, and audio delays that rival government processing times, it is apparent that buffering becomes less of a technical issue and more of a campaign strategy. You truly get the best of both worlds: half MDA, half academic survival strategy. I guess it’s safe to say that Hannah Montana walked so student politics could run…𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.

Every year, instead of witnessing brilliant showcases with diverse options from the roster, the performers start being counted by hand. Last season had a lead vocalist, a backing vocalist, and nine instrumentalists, but now, we’re left with a lead vocalist and six ensemble members. Where’s Mama? Where’s Papa? 𝘒𝘶𝘺𝘢 is nowhere to be found. And 𝘈𝘵𝘦 does not want to take on the lead.

It was never a conversation of “May the best man win,” but rather a repetitive playlist that when the students are asked to raise their hands and say who wants to lead, they play “PINKY UP” via KATSEYE.

Gone was our autonomy to choose between opposing colors. This became an outright admission of a prized possession position to those who ran. What voting is there to keep when the candidates have no other opponents to beat? The election for student officers has long become a selection process. We can just even 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘰-𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬 this out within their color and the name of abstaining.

Our relationship with the KAUBAN was perhaps doomed from the start.

What the students need are leaders who would not dance the night away, but rather a clone of Mary Poppins who would face the students armed with knowledge and a YouTube search of “How to fix a broken system.” They don’t need a puppet easy to manipulate, a dog that barks and follows anyone’s calling, a representative that could not even stand on its own, or a student that gets lost in the direction of academics. Student leaders are the core of the students’ voice. And when they can’t perform their duties well? Who is worth the vote will remain an unanswered question.

Democracy was not an option this time.

In the eyes of the crowd, leadership becomes a hassle to hold, and students are a liability to mold. Yesterday was the beginning of lost sovereignty to pick the GOATED one. The performing bands would continue to exhibit a full showtime event; the same number of crew would be hailed as winners, with all eight groups ranked up on the podium. The students’ questions would remain unanswered. And the missing puzzle piece will only be found once our dearest KAUBAN declares the annual Battle of the Blanks a success, where contests are named but never truly fought.

𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳?

Written by PWDe pa discount? & Humuhumunukunukuapua'a
Proofread by Champignon and Stubborn Catto
Art by Enaemon

08/06/2026

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗧𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗙𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗠𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘀

Every year, crowds gather and the place buzzes for months as future 𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘯 and their guardians wait in frantic energy for the Mindanao State University-System Admission and Scholarship Examination (MSU-SASE) results, especially whose names will climb the Top 20 chart in Mindanao’s Super Bowl of entrance exams—a monumental setlist that 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 did not make an appearance on stage this year.

Or perhaps the crickets were this year’s main performance, since they could be heard more than the *𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩* *𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩* administration’s official release.

Such a strange and unique performance this year, for sure!

Annually, the Top 20 list becomes the Mindanao Walk of Fame. Names dropped on that ranking become instant hitmakers and local legends. Students get to exhale a “𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘰 ‘𝘵𝘰!” From months of sweat-and-tears preparation, parents screenshot the list and make it their children’s fan cards, and ABC Schools’ managements name-drop their top-scoring artists. In Mindanao, landing on that list isn’t just an achievement on paper; it’s a hometown concert where audiences get to grab their black pointy hat, wear a gigantic cape, mount a broom, and fly to the western sky to defy gravity.

And this year’s setlist theme was “Go girl, give us nothing!” As in, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

But this wasn’t a sudden mic drop; it was an ongoing performance for years, with escalating cheating controversies climbing the SASE charts annually like a recurring viral hit of poor-quality answer keys.

Because behind the curtains—the ones they’re gripping so tightly—the real story was already doing its own viral tour across comment sections and group chats. Somewhere between “read the directions carefully” and “keep your eyes on your own paper,” a portion of this year’s examinees decided SASE was a group activity. And the examination venues—those legendary sardine-can arrangements that apparently doubled as idea-sharing conventions—made sure everyone had the best seat in the house to collaborate. The administration, it seems, curated the most festive cheating experience: tight quarters, wandering eyes, and the proximity of a mosh pit.

Students couldn’t even grumble for a refund either because no one officially canceled. No statement. No investigation notice. No “𝘸𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶.” Just the administration still wearing its gold-medal stunt: the Olympic-level 𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢.

The outcry for the Top 20 rings louder than a ruined tradition—it is a chant rooted in how the administration has faced public pressure with dead air rather than confronting its own compromised exam security. Perhaps the institution can no longer separate actual talent from copyrighted work, sacrificing the visibility of honest students just to manage their reputational crisis.

So when the dust settled and the scores were released, rather than facing the known trouble students had walked in that might fly them to places they’d never been—like passing in high infidelity—the crew behind the curtain made a very bold, very strategic, very cowardly executive decision: pretend like it didn’t exist.

No body, no crime—𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘵, 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦?

No.

Because the absence of the Top 20 didn’t bury the story. It became 𝘵𝘩𝘦 story. Mindanao’s online community, never one to be a bad gossip roundtable, clamored “𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦” via Sabrina Carpenter for its press release. Schools held concerts without the Twenty Pilots. And the online community promptly appointed itself an unsolicited investigative task force. Comment sections became courtrooms. Facebook posts became evidence boards. Everyone had a theory, a source, and a cousin who supposedly knew someone who sat next to someone who definitely cheated.

𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦? 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺? 𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵. The ones who actually spent months reviewing, skipped pre-tour fun, and rationed their sleep with their academics to hold the SASE’s beat only to find that no slot reserved their name. Not because they failed. But because the administration didn’t address whose success came from stretched necks.

The real tragedy is never even about where the Top 20 is, but the Schrödinger topnotchers: where these top performers become both winners and suspects until further notice—𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. The academic bandits get to steal the spotlight from the honest students, tampering not only with the Top 20 but also with MSU-IIT’s top 20% qualifiers. Because then, who really gets to 𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬 𝘮𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 the entry sings “𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨… 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦!”?

Whether the administration intends it or not, it shows that it is easier to erase the honor roll than to hold the ‘alleged’ cheaters accountable. We continue to be 𝘋𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯-𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘢𝘯. The institution would rather punish everyone’s recognition than admit its own security failures. That the music being sent to every hardworking 𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳 in Mindanao is this: we could not protect your integrity, so we buried it instead.

That is not crisis management. That is a venue that forgot to lock its own backdoor, watched the instruments get stolen, and then cancelled the concert while blaming the sound check.

You don’t just cancel the headliner and expect the crowd to go home. The crowd has the receipts. They still have their tickets. And they have the time.

The Top 20 was never just a list. It was a promise—that effort gets named, that excellence earns its spotlight, that Mindanao produces headliners worth knowing. When the administration chose silence, they didn’t just withhold a ranking. They broke that promise. They dimmed the spotlight on every honest examinee who deserved to stand in it.

True management requires an open investigation and real accountability, not dead air. Without these actions, the SASE will lose its status as Mindanao’s Super Bowl of academic excellence, fading instead into a compromised institutional system shadowed by the legacies of dishonesty.

Until then, the stage will remain empty. The curtain remains shut. And somewhere out there, the real top scorers are still holding their performance passes—waiting for a show that the administration has decided, without announcement, without apology, and without accountability, is simply no longer happening.

Written by Berdegulan
Proofread by Aza Chobei and Dinosaur
Art by Aii

28/04/2026

𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝘼 𝙈𝙂𝘼 𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝟱
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗼𝘁𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘰𝘱𝘛𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘜𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦: As the festival comes to an end with bright trophies, the night events were a mounting spree of marvelous jubilees and scents. The gates closed. Seats packed with trolls. Vibrant lights illuminated the gymnasium. Heat wrapped around the ground. And a circulated stench of… 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵?

Cassanova and Aurie, seated in the bleachers, endured what no troll should have to suffer. While Draco, Cedrix ft. Fynxie, Ekko, Mollycule, and Riptide cheered without distraction, the sickly sweetness of a brown, mushy, abandoned cupcake in Cassanova’s corner was strong enough to overpower college pride. They tried to chant. They tried to wave their flags. But the rogue cupcake was relentless—a silent bergen creeping into their nostrils and stealing their joy.

Perhaps the bergens were not the only threat at the Troll Village. A cupcake left to rot on the bleachers—and the administration’s inability to provide a clean, fresh space—proved just as foul.

𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦… 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵.

As it has been known to save the best for last, many trolls always have the joyful will to book their night just to watch the magic happen at the gymnasium. It is PALAKASAN after all, and what more can one expect than extraordinary talent? Except, of course, the aforementioned uninvited 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 stench that lingered in Cassanova and Aurie’s bleachers—even stayed and finished the program until the end.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘐𝘋𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯… 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘤𝘢𝘬𝘦.

Within hours, the incident left a digital footprint. Facebook posts multiplied. Comments echoed the same horrifying question: Who left that cupcake? And why did no one clean it?

The trolls of Mindanao State University-Iligan Institute of Technology (MSU‑IIT) pride themselves on Clean As You Go (CLAYGO)—a mantra that keeps the village safe. But on the grandest stage, the mop stood beside the comfort room door untouched. Waiting. Begging to be used. The administration failed to ensure a clean space for its own people.

The trolls have already suffered enough heat and sweat. Cassanova and Aurie were the 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 ones—they only had to smell such sweet dessert, not step on it. What they need is simple: a clean, comfortable space where they can cheer, enjoy performances, and inhale without risking their health.

For a word—let the trolls breathe. And may no sweet baked good ever steal their olfactory spotlight again.

🖋️ Forbidden and Cupcake
🔎 Adamantine and Dinosaur
🎨 Waddles and Aii

27/04/2026

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝗚𝗲𝘁 𝗗𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗱

PALAKASAN is an entire kitchen, and it never leaves us hungry for theatrics. In this year’s five-day meal course, we’re served with a hearty banquet kneaded from the sportsmanship embrace.

So what exactly did we have to digest before the chef’s kiss sportsmanship dessert?

𝗔𝗽𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗿: 𝘙𝘢𝘸 𝘐𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦

At 12:31 a.m., while most of Troll Village was tucked in, KAUBAN sent a message: the quiz bowl venue was moved. At early in the morning, Cullymole’s coordinator, sick and asleep, woke to find it. At 7:53 a.m., Cullymole arrived at the wrong room. At 8:35 a.m., the kitchen caught fire. The real recipe? KAUBAN burned the venue notice, and handed the fire extinguisher to the other colleges—who naturally aimed it at their strongest rival.

Imagine this: You meal-prepped your intelligence for three weeks plus, and arrived early to the venue. Then, surprise—the kitchen transferred at 12:31 a.m. while you were asleep. The dish was spoiled before plating.

And who sits at the receiving end of that table? Cullymole, who arrived before 8:00 a.m.—an hour earlier than the contest proper, but had missed the sign that said “Our dearest participants…” with a comma after 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵. They wrote: “Our dearest, participants… the venue for quiz bowl was moved to another dimension hehe.” Instead, like trolls rolling, Cullymole moved to the new location five minutes late 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, met with an unwelcome greeting of last place.

𝗘𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲: 𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘺

With the quiz bowl competition being declared a non-grievable event, the handling of latecomers—Cullymole and Tipride—ultimately fell under the event head’s station as the ones plating the final dish. But here shouts the event coordinators, making a call of “Let’s make this a potluck!” and giving the deciding options to the other colleges.

Option A (The Invisible Meal): You may dine. You may plate. You may sit. But no worries, its calorie score is zero.

Option B (The Leftover): Straight to last place. No tasting—but you get to bag the leftover score.

The other colleges, unsurprisingly, voted for Option B—a manifesto against Cullymole’s will to participate despite no bearing.

Sure, that option fed their interest—they ate. But that meal would never have hit the menu if KAUBAN didn’t sleep on the venue since Thursday until early Saturday morning. Marination takes time—so what were they expecting to marinate with only a few hours left before the competition?

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘁: 𝘒𝘈𝘜𝘉𝘈𝘕’𝘴 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺

KAUBAN wants to be rated five stars but does not take the expense to avoid bad reviews. They cater to such a strict schedule that only graces at their own benefit. (𝘈𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴?)

Although the customer 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, a bad review due to disqualification—err, last placing—does not have the mouthfeel of last place. No, being a few minutes late doesn’t taste disqualification; 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 "𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴", a rule written, reviewed, and agreed upon. Clear rule, clear consequence, no drama… at least that’s how it should’ve gone.

Like every PALAKASAN, the only consistent thing is how patience is treated like a renewable ingredient that everyone is expected to have every time KAUBAN announces another change. Because when it’s the KAUBAN’s diner, customers are expected to adjust, comply, and move on even after hours of queuing. But when plates get flipped suddenly, time becomes absolute. The same KAUBAN that keeps students waiting until 6:00 p.m. for a soundcheck—delays courtesy of extended matches and unforeseen technical issues—now lectures about 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 at 8:30 a.m. In their kitchen, time is a one-way mirror—they see your tardiness, but you never see theirs.

If decisions like choosing the fate of Cullymole and Tipride were in KAUBAN’s hands, then it should’ve stayed right there from start to finish. Passing it around like a dish no one wanted to eat—𝘱𝘢𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘸—until accountability got lost somewhere between plates.

This really could’ve been avoided if KAUBAN had just respected contestants enough not to make late-night announcements, or at the very least, post a notice outside the original venue so contestants wouldn’t waste time waiting when they should’ve been making their way to the new one. An announcement early in the morning of the big day would’ve been more visible than the one that eventually ended up in the depths of Messenger chat logs—or they could have adjusted the time of the competition completely, considering how KAUBAN has proven it’s easy for them to do so since PALAKASAN started.

Then, KAUBAN’s statement finally comes out like a bill at the end of a long meal you did not really enjoy, but had no choice but to sit through—everything already consumed, service already experienced, and now itemized into neat little (𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳) lines. To be completely fair, there was accountability in it: lapses were acknowledged, the inconvenient late-night announcement was admitted, and the decision-making process, which they themselves confessed raised concerns about fairness and impartiality, was laid out in full.

Beyond that, there was not much that tasted new. It mostly reiterated what was already widely understood—guidelines restated, timelines explained, and a replay of what went down since the competition started.

On the final day of PALAKASAN, KAUBAN delivered an apology right before the awarding of Literary Events took place. It was accountability round two—another serving of dessert to make up for the previous courses—but it still could have stayed in the oven a little longer.

Although the intent was there, how can a kitchen recover from a wave of bad reviews and truly take accountability if make-up dishes are only being served to Cullymole when another customer—Tipride—had the same review? Did the kitchen run short on ingredients or was it being portioned unevenly to the most upset customer? Accountability, the dessert promised from the outset, starts to lose its flavor when it is not served to everyone at the table, especially when the issue at hand was never isolated to just one guest in the first place.

Frankly, dessert came plated well and mouth-watering at first glance, the kind that made you think: finally, a sweet ending to a chaotic meal. But once bitten into, you realize it is as good as any other undercooked cake—good on the outside, structured and presentable, but gooey in the middle in a way that is simply disappointing. It left a bittersweet taste instead of the promised sweet relief.

𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗥𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

The service is slow, the menu changes at midnight, and the chef asks other customers to decide what you should eat. Would not recommend—unless you enjoy being special: always being on time for a system that is not. KAUBAN really did burn with this one.

🖋️ Tsikanamore and Jeongyeon Locsin
🔎 Thatorchia and Ice
🎨 Gucilla

26/04/2026

𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝘼 𝙈𝙂𝘼 𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 4
𝗔 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗱𝗼𝗺’𝘀 𝗦𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗦𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

The trolls entered the University Gymnasium. The lights overstimulated. The performances dazzled. And as they looked up, there they were, undisturbed but thriving in the corner—𝘤𝘰𝘣𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴.

A troll should have brought a broom and a ladder, but that would be too harsh. Ironically, that’s the iconic signature of Cassanova, the Spider-Troll. Perhaps the Prince forgot to remind Bergen Bridget to wipe them, or the spotlight was intentionally aimed away from years of neglect and focused instead on sprinkling glitter in the name of aesthetics.

Not subtle. Not small. Lingering on ceilings like a decoration for Halloween—the way a guest is present when no one invites them. But no one has the broom, the ladder, or the institutional history of maintenance to send them away.

Because that is the Bergen way, isn’t it?

PALAKASAN is not a quiet occasion for the tribes of trolls. It is MSU-IIT’s grandest stage—the kind of event that draws not just students but also our dear visitors, parents, guests, alumni, and those whose first impression of an institution becomes their permanent one.

Big names walk through the gymnasium doors. People who did not spend four years here develop the loyal, forgiving eyes of someone who has learned to look past the cracks. And what was there—draped in the corners of a gymnasium that was supposed to announce that this university is thriving and proud—was a web that had been undisturbed long enough to suggest that no one, in all the weeks of PALAKASAN preparation, had once looked up.

But this isn’t the first time they surprised us. Last year, a hole in the roof teased us with raindrops. For us, trolls, we could only count the number of times the raindrops tap the gymnasium floors.

The solution? A 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘦. Was it the same pail that Jack and Jill went up the hill for? Or Poppy and Branch?

From a hole to a web, our not-so-modest abode, clad in elaborate lights and sounds, never fails to tickle the people in the wrong way possible. Oops, as if the trolls couldn’t get enough with the unmaintained classrooms and organization offices, they are left counting the cobwebs.

Of course, the gymnasium has developed a pattern—and no amount of troll-themed streamers can redecorate what deferred maintenance has been quietly building for years.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳.

The broom stays in the corners. Next year, Bergen Bridget will hang the streamers again. They will not look up. And the trolls will learn to applaud the ceiling.
‎
Booting it all up, the negligence must be stopped. It is not that hard to clean, right? After all, a little dusting is done, and the problems are gone. But wait, if these persistent cobwebs are Cassanova’s lingering presence, is this a foreshadowing that the Arachnids will be this year’s champion? If so, one might wonder what the other colleges’ 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴 hint at an imminent victory—maybe perpetually broken toilets forecast Draco, or maybe Mollycule’s is connected to a light-bulb defect near the chemistry labs.

𝘚𝘰, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮?

🖋️ Toothsie and BoneMeal
🎨 Enaemon and Vantablack

24/04/2026

𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝘼 𝙈𝙂𝘼 𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 3
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗻 𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗶𝗰

BERGEN TOWN—As the insignias of the seven tribes unveil into a chromatically grandiose spectacle for this year’s PALAKASAN, the trolls, midcheer, suddenly remember tomorrow’s calculus exam. The professor did not cancel it; apparently, they never got the memo about the 𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. And yet—something hinders the shimmer of glitters.

𝘐𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺, 𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪-𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯.

In the Night of Songs, while most tune their guitars and fiddle with the keys of their keyboards, others tune their minds and fiddle with the keys of their Canon F-789SGA calculators.

Despite a directive issued by the university, the bergens encouraged trolls to continue their pursuit of learning, of academic excellence, and of outstanding performance in their fields.

Announced on April 8 is Memorandum Order No. 00152, released by the Office of the Chancellor (OC), with the subject: 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯 2026 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘭 22-26, 2026. It said in the first item: “Suspension of classes and other academic activities (to wit: clinical duties, on-the-job training, practice teaching, etc.) on 𝗔𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗹 𝟮𝟮-𝟮𝟲, 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲” (bold included).

PALAKASAN is not just a decorative noise squeezed between real obligations, it’s a part of student life itself—a space where teamwork and identity can harmonize, built in ways no multiple-choice questions or 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘦-𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯-𝘢𝘯𝘥-𝘢𝘪𝘳-𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 problems can measure. Yet some students have to choose between representing their college in the field or representing themselves in the exam room.

No one denies that the university exemplifies discipline; however, it shouldn’t have to fear change more than failure. A campus that truly values its students knows the best and most productive thing they can do is put down the pencil and join the parade. Rest and relaxation are not a reward for burnout and exhaustion—they are necessary for student well-being.

The math is simple: Trolls do not envy joy itself, they envy joy that is not itemized and timed—otherwise, it would just be another competition entry for PALAKASAN. So, maybe, save this for next year. Preferably, make it grievable. Because come to think of it, this whole fiasco is truly akin to the bergen logic: The trolls aren’t spared by the institution; if anything, they are more so being swallowed by a system that dares to schedule (then cancel) happiness—academic integrity for the appetizer and student well-being for the main course. Bon appétite, indeed.

🖋️ Aerion and Wishbone
🔎 Thatorchia and Ice
🎨 Zeke and Junjin

23/04/2026

𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝘼 𝙈𝙂𝘼 𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 2
𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝗘𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘀

𝘛𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘮, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘯.

News broke: PALAKASAN 2026 has descended upon the land. The Troll, however, finds no joy in the proclamation—only the dread of the attendance sheet. We are once again playing the game of sanctions—that glitterless, joy-stealing Bergen in a council sash. But what happens when I tell you that the Troll yearns for horizontal position—unwashed, unbothered, and utterly unobserved. Not just me. Other trolls would want to vibe outside the den too, rather than being forced into a playable character. Am I right?

Every year during PALAKASAN, the tribe leaders constantly remind students that their attendance is 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 throughout the event. All in the name of 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 and 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. But what happens if a student misses even just one sign-in or sign-out? Sanctions strike! These often include requiring the provision of grocery packs, school supplies, or being placed under the blocked status—raising questions about whether these penalties are fair or too heavy for missing the attendance.

Surely, no event is more fun than having liability threats breathing down everyone’s neck the whole time, right? The tribe leaders, like Bergens, believe that joy can be manufactured through fear and is never discovered in the quiet freedom of absence. If the goal is for students to genuinely engage in PALAKASAN activities, teaching them to fear absence is not the way to invite them in. When students are forced and pressured to stay, nurturing true pride and support becomes a challenge—events feel less like celebrations and more like chores, leaving many to quietly count the hours until sign-out.

Don’t get this on the wrong side: Applause goes to those who attend, participate, and win PALAKASAN events wholeheartedly. I, myself, adore every single troll in this village whose blood, sweat, and tears keep this season of competition and camaraderie rolling. They are, perhaps, the real champs. But some of us want to slack off during this five-day event. Some trolls just want to spend these days doing something else: finishing pending academic works, studying for exams, or as simple as stretching that remaining weekly allowance for other matters.

If the leaders think scribbles on papers mean trolls are actively vibing, then it may be worth reconsidering that assumption. When their presence is driven by obligation, students will naturally do just enough to avoid seeing a notification in their My.IIT accounts, telling them a liability has been added to their clearance: sign in, sneak out, and reappear just in time before the Bergen can stuff them into their out-of-style f***y pack. Because, to a Bergen, it does not matter whether trolls are happy or bored—only that they are present.

Maybe a missed attendance is within the tolerance level. Recently, a snippet (from a reliable source) has roamed in the wilderness: 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰-𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴=𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. Are bloc voting and vote buying a rather closer act? I mean, what if not voting means a signal of abstinence? Even a mere reason for laziness leads to abstention, or else that would be a chokehold on the rights of the trolls. Imposing esteemed debts over not participating is like demanding a troll to sing just to prove they are joyful.

To truly encourage students’ full participation, college councils can start by focusing less on punishment and more on promotions for each event that will actually encourage students to stay and join. 𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 via coercion is about as genuine as Bergen’s idea of happiness on Trollstice—forced, performative, and completely missing the point. Real joy is not collected, recorded, or sanctioned; it is chosen genuinely.

Fingers-crossed, it is up to the trolls if they want to be in the den or the wilderness. The choice is ours, and forcing us inside is a hoax. Liberate us for once. The den is not a prison. But the tribe leaders keep on building walls. And the more walls they build, the more trolls will learn to climb over them and slip through the cracks. Perhaps, the only escape is to stop signing in at all.

🖋️DJ Benzene ft. Peco
🔎Ophiuchus
🎨Gajima

Salbahis

09/06/2026

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28/04/2026

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