Monster Maker

Monsters: creatures below my bed,
Shadows, claws then horns on their head.
Thought of when they reached home,
Recalled nothing, but pain and a sad tone.

Whispers rang beside my ear.
Focused my eyes when darkness is here.
“Come with me. Play with me.”
I cried lightning and bent my knee.

Yesterday’s same as oblivion is deranged,
Today I’m lonely, tomorrow’s unchanged.
Sound waves were arctic, all of it twanged.
I tried my best, it can’t be arranged.

But I was startled with someone knocking.
For someone to come, I wasn’t expecting.

I was really startled when someone knocked on my wooden door. I had to finish a stanza on my typewriter before getting up from the side of my bed.

I flung to the door, hoping not to be numb.
Hoped for hope that it will come.

I hate this feeling of being disturbed when I’m focused. Then it came to me that I’ve been shut in my room for almost three weeks already. Good thing I have my own toilet and shower room. All they have to do is leave me some food in front of my door. Plenty of it was given and all I want to take is one plate a day.

“Darling, it’s me,” he said.

I tensed up upon hearing his voice.

“Please open the door.”

I suddenly realized who he was. I held onto the doorknob and hesitated to turn it. I let my right ear rest on the door.

I think I am becoming what my head’s creating, I thought.

Monsters are real, and so am I.

“Darling, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”


I went to my drawer and slid out my knife. That same knife I use to hurt myself so I can endure the pain. So I can let my blood slide from my flesh. For my floor to be stained with red and sins from my soul.

“Leave me alone,” was all I had managed to say.

“Okay. I’ll be back next weekend. Please take good care of yourself. Please come out already,” he pleaded. “Darling, I already miss-”

I played “You Only Live Once” before he could finish his sentence.

Some people think they’re always right.
Others are quiet and uptight.

Hearing this song helps me get through a day. Thank you The Strokes.

Others they seem so very nice, nice, nice, nice.
Inside they might feel sad and wrong.

I can say he already drove away from home, our house rather, because the woman’s deafening voice was fading. And all of a sudden, everything I can see is darkness.

I can hear the echo of her voice while remembering her words.

“Your father will remarry if I die,” she joked.

It was never funny. I didn’t know she was hurting. I didn’t know she’s not the only one. I wish I knew. I wish I took care of her before she faded away.

I gripped my typewriter and came back to my senses. I brushed the teardrop and continued the poem.

I was wrong, a monster came my way.
He’s one of them, that I can say.
Worse than my demons roaming around,
Worst of all, he let me drown.

He never knew he created one.
He never figured he created tons.
He’s a monster without the horns,
A monster makes monsters, he shot me with thorns.

In and out, lust’s better than love.
Suck his dick, he likes being above.
While his children wait for him,
When his wife waited for him.

Anong Meron Sa Kawalan?

Naroon kaya ang mga kasagutan sa mga tanong na iniiwasan?
Naroon kaya ang mga dahilang pinagdamot ng karamihan?
Naroon kaya ang katuparan ng mga pantasyang inaasam-asam?
Naroon kaya ang pagbalik sa alaala at pagtuwid ng pagkakamali?
Naroon kaya ang pakiramdam ng ginhawa at pagkakampante?
Naroon kaya ang pagtigil ng luha at pagkalma ng isip?
Naroon kaya ang kasiguraduhan?

Anong meron sa kawalan?
Sa kawalan mo?
Sa pagkawala mo?


Nanlilimahid sa sahig ang kasalanan
Ang iyong kaputol ay pilit pinutol
Saang dulo hinahanap ang pagtakas,
Anong panglaw sa tanikalang binitay
Ang hindi matutubos ng isang libong dasal,
Naliligaw ka sa daan patungo

Kung saan
Ako iniwan

Anino ng dagling bangungot
Ng dalagang binitay ng gabi
Ang inunan, dugo at ang ating pusod
Kasama ang lihim ay iyong ibaon.


One thing about Cubao is the air will always be sultry even when dusk has completely fallen. It is approaching 7:00 pm, when a prominent creative joins us at a little hole-in-the-wall kitchen bar. His warm smile only makes the hot weather agreeable. He swears his alias “Rombutan” doesn’t mean much, just a portmanteau of his name and the prickly fruit. But rambutan may be his befitting metaphor, behind his poignant artwork is an effervescent person with colorful stories to tell. It is the first time we meet him, but our conversation and the laughters in between feel like a reunion that has been long time coming.

Behind his poignant artwork is an effervescent person with colorful stories to tell.Let’s get to know more about Rombutan in our maiden issue! Pre-order your copies now! 🙌~~~~❇️ RETAIL PRICEPhp 385.00~~~❇️ MODES OF HANDLINGLBC, Metro Manila Meet ups (SM Megamall, SM Aura, SM MOA), Nueva Vizcaya Meet ups (Bayombong, Solano)~~~❇️ MODES OF PAYMENTPaypal, GCash, Bank Transfer (BDO)~~~❇️ To place your orders, send a message with the following details to our IG account: No. of order/s:Name:Address:Contact No.:Mode of handling:Mode of payment:~~~❇️ DEADLINE OF PRE-ORDERS:August 30, 2019~~~❇️ For more info, email us at or send us a message thru our social media accounts.~~~Enjoy this 250+ page, perfectly bound collection of stories, literary pieces, artwork, and photographs. Be inspired by the stories of young Filipino creatives leaving their distinct mark locally and abroad. Flip through the crisp, full-color pages of the print magazine, admire the high quality visuals, and catch a whiff of that new book scent. ✨The clock is ticking so pre-order your copy now!#novicemagazineph#novicamagazinephgoestoprint#printneverdies~~~📹 Allen Esteban

Posted by Novice Magazine on Friday, August 9, 2019

Why the pseudonym “rombutan”? Because just like the fruit rambutan, even though I have this rough ugly exterior, I’m all sweet and soft inside. Just kidding! To be honest, it’s just a random play on words, Rom and rambutan.

Continue reading rombutan


“Out of all the horrendous things you’ve seen in this world, which one saddens you the most?” 

I consider his question for a while before giving my answer. 

It’s 4:30 PM and we are looking over at the horizon, watching the medley of orange hues blend with the sea. The harsh wind blew against our stricken faces as we stare blankly at a perfectly painted scene. 

I turn to face him and say, “It’s when love slowly morphs into hate.” 

He hangs his head between his shoulders as I watch regret flood all over his expression. 

I look back at the magnificent view in front of us, and all I see is water.

The Blind Smelt of Music

The paper is bleeding so much.
Is there an end to this?
But I can only watch.

A scrupulous composer.
A juxtaposition of notes.
A forbidden requiem.

Cacophonous yet solemn.
Coarse yet smooth.
Disturbing yet beautiful.
Poisonous yet sweet.
Mellow yet acrid.

It loomed on me.
A spectacular and terrifying revelation.

It’s too late though.
The orchestra has already begun.

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