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A Letter To Cupid

He was sure that the man was perfect for her but why did she walk away? Cupid checked his arrows to see if they work. With his target locked, he released the string with grace and let the arrow flew through the wind and into a man’s heart.

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Artwork by Tricia Jardin

When Corazon was young, her mother told her a story about a being named Cupid, she said that he was sort of an angel that shoots people with arrows and if you get shot by him, you instantly fall in love. As a child, Corazon was awestruck by romance, especially how people would buy flowers, chocolates, and huge stuffed bears for their partners. 

Growing up, she wondered about love, she fell hard and fell out of it in the same way. She was convinced that it wasn’t entirely her fault, maybe Cupid had a bad aim that led her to a bit of misfortune. If there was a list of ex-lovers, hers would be long enough to wear as a scarf.

Corazon had a heart like a child’s, even in her twenties, she still looked at the world with wide-eyed innocence. One morning while walking in the neighborhood streets, she bumped into someone. Her mind immediately made everything pink. The air felt nicer, the warm rays of the sun made their faces glow golden, “his smile could launch a thousand ships” she thought. The man asked for her name. Instead of her name, she said “Have a nice day” as she scanned the area like she was looking for something––or someone then continued to walk away leaving the man confused.

Cupid was fond of Corazon, he liked the way she beamed at everyone, charming them with her innocence. He still remembered the time when Corazon’s mother told her about him. Nothing is purer than a child’s amazement at something so complex, he thought. He followed her around and tried to strike anyone who he thought might be perfect for Corazon which was a mistake. He couldn’t help it, he wanted her to meet somebody badly.

Corazon’s action shocked him. He was sure that the man was perfect for her but why did she walk away? Cupid checked his arrows to see if they work, they are sharp and filled with magic, he tested them out on a few pedestrians walking by. With his target locked, he released the string with grace and let the arrow flew through the wind and into a man’s heart. In the same direction came a woman, with excitement, he aimed at the woman and once again shot an arrow. He watched the two move closer to each other. 

There was nothing wrong. His bow and arrow worked fine. Was Corazon immune from his powers? 

“I’ll try again tomorrow.” he said with eagerness and flew home. 

Corazon grew tired of love and the things that come with it but more importantly, she was convinced that Cupid meant more harm than good. She wanted him to stop meddling in her life. So, she grabbed a pen and paper and started to write a letter. 

Dear Cupid, 

I suppose you already know my sentiments. You are an archer with good aim and every time you strike me, I can feel it. I have been feeling these since I can remember. You’ve given me countless possible forevers but they don’t feel real at all. Love is complex and relationships don’t have to be on life support. Getting struck once or twice is enough but if you get struck more than a hundred times, the heart goes weak and so does the mind. You see, I was thinking that it would be best if you stop now. You have done quite enough and for that, I give my thanks. Sometimes, I know you mean well but now, I am not sure anymore. There’s this feeling inside of my chest that keeps telling me that nothing is genuine anymore. Maybe I need some time alone, to say the least. 

Sincerely, 

Corazon

After reading the letter––Corazon’s last plea, Cupid puts down his bow and arrow and retires for good despite being heartbroken. He still looks over Corazon from time to time. He witnessed her walk down the aisle, marrying a good man and finally settling down. 

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Literary

Confession

It creeps up on me when I eat, when I am sitting in the living room, when I am about to sleep.

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Artwork by Patricia Jardin

To rest is a sin.

In the quiet moments of this new sheltered life, I have come to accept that there is a small dark corner of my mind where all the dates of the calendar are marked. From the first week of April, to the last week of May—it’s all there. It is a small dark corner. It creeps up on me when I eat, when I am sitting in the living room, when I am about to sleep.

This small dark corner reminds me everyday of what’s about to come. I explain that I’m not ready, that I need more time, that this is new territory and I haven’t taken a step further since I came here—it doesn’t listen to me. It tells me to get to work. It tells me that this is my priority, this is what matters the most in this worldwide pandemic. It forces me to listen, to do as it says, to be its puppet to be controlled with the numbers controlling my arms and legs.

But this is just a small dark corner of my mind. There are other corners. Much bigger corners.

To rest is a sin. 

I have yet to be forgiven. 

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Literary

Little Bit of Paradise

You try to breathe in the catastrophe as your thumb keeps scrolling and scrolling and scrolling until the end is reached, leaving a deep void that makes you unable to speak or act.

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Artwork by Patricia Jardin

You wake up to the sight of your room’s white ceiling. The summer heat makes your skin sweat immediately. Piled up papers stare at you from the corner of the room along with unpacked belongings from the dorm––ah, yes. You are home––earlier than expected but still, you succumb to this little bit of paradise.

You breathe in the familiarity of your bed sheet’s smell, let every caress of the fabric give comfort up until you check your phone.

Three hundred thirty-nine new cases. The death toll is now at 704. Recoveries at 1,842. The total is now at 10,610.

This little bit of paradise began to crumble from the inside. Like a volcano nearing to erupt. The summer heat began to burn not only the skin but also made its way into bones and flesh. Piled up papers began to yell, screaming for a continuation. Gentle caresses became tight grips with nails digging deeper into full palms.

You try to breathe in the catastrophe as your thumb keeps scrolling and scrolling and scrolling until the end is reached, leaving a deep void that makes you unable to speak or act.

You see posts from people staying up in their ivory towers while waving their flags of toxic positivity for all to see. You grit your teeth in disgust. The screen refreshes, showing heroes and people trying to survive from exhaustion and hunger.

This little bit of paradise of yours completely crumbles, leaving traces of guilt, fear,  and anger, all in one.

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Literary

Finding Courage

In this time, praying has become a refuge. There is solitude in knowing that you are being heard and that what you are feeling and thinking are valid.

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Artwork by Patricia Jardin

It’s nice to wake up with the thought of having food served on the dining table for the day. When you know that you have a home, your family beside you, and wondering what you will do for the rest of the day. Make Dalgona coffee? Bake? Read? Watch a new TV series? Finally finish your school work?

Watching the news has become a staple in the household. Seeing the cases increase, people helping one another, our frontliners making things easier for us, and the struggle of the people trying to make ends meet despite the difficult situation. Suddenly, watching the news brings tension, stress, and anxiety. 

In this time, praying has become a refuge. There is solitude in knowing that you are being heard and that what you are feeling and thinking are valid. It is okay to be scared in times like these but know that these too shall pass. Courage is hard to find these days but waking up and getting out of the bed is a progress. I hope you find the courage to go on day by day.

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