War, Firecrackers, and Farewells: A Filipino New Year Short Story

Set during a Filipino New Year street celebration, this short story follows Gustavo—a man caught between fading traditions, family noise, and the quiet certainty of change. Amid fireworks, karaoke, and overflowing plates, he begins to understand what he is about to leave behind.

An Empty Harvest

“War is an empty harvest. The gods gave mankind intellect and hands meant to build worlds, yet we turned them toward crafting weapons for our shared destruction.”

A rotund man, lighter in hand, proclaims in a well-lit room.

“Higher beings mock us. They watch with contempt and disgust as we march toward our end.”

He dramatically lifts his head and clutches his lighter.

“No more! Our forefathers taught us better than silence and submission. However insignificant our nation is perceived to be, we rise in defiance beneath their mocking gaze and set the night sky ablaze! We shall go forth with burning passion—with fire in our blood and thunder in our hearts—and we will… we will… ugh…”

All the noise leads here.

Interrupted Oration

“What the hell are you going on about with my kids, you fatass?”

A Filipino Christmas Morning Seen from a Quiet Garage

Spreading Christmas cheer… and secondhand smoke.

A bright, sunny Christmas morning in the Philippines awakens a quiet suburban community just south of Manila. A cool breeze brushes through leafy trees, creating soft whistles of nature across the peaceful neighborhood. From outdoor kitchens, the familiar aroma of fried dried fish drifts through the air, stirring curiosity—and hunger—in recovering stomachs.

“It’s Christmas morning again.”

The Last Toll: A Bittersweet World War II Love Story from the Philippines

In a quiet town battered by war and time, Tony stood beneath the noon sun, sweat clinging to his brow. He was only eighteen, yet the world had already demanded more from him than a lifetime should. His mother, reeking of sewage and sacrifice, had raised him to obey, to survive. And he did — in the only ways he knew how.

Melinda was his opposite — silk to his rags, perfume to his mother’s stench. But when they were children, none of that mattered. They climbed trees, raced through rice fields, and dreamed of a life beyond their little town. When love bloomed, it was as natural as breathing — and just as impossible to stop.

But fate had other plans. Her father had chosen a suitor — a spoiled man with money and manners Tony could never match. So they planned to run away, to steal a life for themselves. Then the war came.

🦎 When Aliens Discovered Corporate Life: A Galactic Roast

In a world eight billion light-years away from Earth — where gas particles swell to the size of guavas and darkness exists only as an urban legend — a synthetic-leather structure stands firm against a planet that refuses to obey gravity. Fluid at its peak and solid at its base, it hums faintly, like a migraine given architectural form.

Beyond its walls, enormous floating mammals drift lazily through the radiant air while birdlike creatures shimmer between ultraviolet beams. It’s the kind of peaceful alien landscape that would make even gods sigh in relief — until the door slams open.

Far beyond Earth’s reach, a leather-like structure hums beneath glowing skies

Two humanoid figures stumble in, their once-pristine uniforms tattered, ties hanging limp like defeated flags. They collapse onto a sagging sofa before a massive wall-mounted screen — the only familiar relic of human civilization they’d brought home. Red goo trickles down the walls, pulsing in sync with the pair’s labored breathing.

Company Training Day 2025 (Part 3): Pastries, Humanoids, and Gustavo’s Brush with Destiny

Saturday Training Day 2025 wasn’t done with Gustavo yet. After pastries, speeches, and the awkward attempts of management to inject “fun” into corporate learning, the final act of the day pushed the boundaries of reason. Between buffet food comas, Quality Assurance lectures, and what may or may not have been an alien invasion, this part of Gustavo’s journey proved that absurdity can strike even at the heart of a corporate event.

Post-Buffet Chaos

Bellies stretched, belts loosened, and yawns echoed through the lavish hotel function hall. The coffee station became a battlefield as overstuffed employees fought for caffeine to survive the dreaded “afternoon slump.”

But there was Gustavo, a man with his own strategy: a fresh plate of roasted chicken wings and potato wedges.

“Damn, Gustavo! Really making the most of it, huh?” Gaspar said, eyeing his teammate’s fourth plate.

“I don’t plan on buying dinner tonight, man. This is paid for already,” Gustavo replied mid-bite, chicken grease shining proudly on his lips.

Before anyone could argue, Archie’s voice cut through the murmurs:

“We now welcome Sandy, our Chief of Quality Assurance, to discuss the 3 R’s of effective quality management. Please give her a round of applause.”

A slow, half-hearted clap rolled across the room. Underwriting was still outside on a smoke break. Claims was on the brink of a food coma. And Sandy… Sandy had the unenviable job of keeping an uninterested, burping crowd awake.

“Quality gets the short end again,” Gustavo muttered, scarfing down his wedges. “Nobody likes the fault-finders.”

The Humanoids Arrive

Then, everything changed.

Company Training Day 2025 (Part 2): Pastries, Speeches, and Starfish

If you’re wondering why Gustavo’s at a hotel instead of in bed watching anime, rewind to Part 1—it explains everything (sort of).

Training Day 2025 pressed on. The welcome ceremonies passed in a blur of applause and polite reverence. Jon, flying in from Australia, congratulated the Philippine branch for keeping the Asia-Pacific and North America portfolio in good order. Archie followed, accepting the praise on behalf of the branch. Each speech earned the respectful applause of the crowd.

Gustavo, however, had other priorities. He was knee-deep in an assortment of deluxe pastries rarely available to him.

Pastries Over Protocol

“Gustavo, come on…” Zoey whispered as she walked past, exasperated at his irreverence.

“Hey, just getting my hazard pay,” Gustavo quipped, a grin forming as he held up his croissant.

Zoey rolled her eyes, but with a faint smile. She had bigger things to worry about than Gustavo’s sugar intake.

Manila Floods and Forgotten Promises: An Absurd Tale of a Vagabond, Watermelon Seeds, and Smiling Politicians

The rains in Manila did not fall — they collapsed, like a billion buckets overturned by a drunken god. Jeepneys bobbed like bathtub toys, tricycles spun like lost tops, and office workers scurried in their pressed clothes, darting into malls where the air-conditioning roared louder than the storm. From the safety of glass walls and fluorescent light, they watched the world blur into gray water, and then politely forgot it existed.

Far away yet still in the same city, a vagabond sat in a half-drowned basketball court. The court had once hosted sweaty neighborhood games, but now it served as an ark for one man, one dog, and a collapsing kingdom of cardboard boxes. His lips — cracked, swollen, mutinous from too many watermelon seeds — seemed to spell a wordless hymn. He smiled anyway, as though each seed carried the punchline to a cosmic joke only he could hear.