I recently stumbled upon a physical relic from a decade ago — a weathered copy of Alikabok at Takot, a folio we published during my time with the UPLB Writers’ Club.

Flipping through the pages, I found “Avelina”, a poem I wrote when I was still a BS Forestry student.

Looking at the author bio on the opposite page is a trip. It captures a specific version of me: a student studying trees by day and writing poetry about heartbreak by night. But reading the poem itself, I am struck by how different that young girl sounds from her cheeky bio.

The Old Soul in the Forestry Student

Reading “Avelina” now, ten years later, I realize I was writing with an “old soul” voice. I was a teenager experimenting with the weight of deep, classical Tagalog — using worlds like kundiman (love song), paraluman (muse), and balintataw (vision). It feels like the work of a young poet falling in love with the sound of the language, trying to channel a vintage atmosphere to match the theme of opening an antique baul (chest).

But my degree was definitely peeking through the poetry. In the third stanza, I wrote:

I didn’t just see a generic flower; I specifically chose the Kamuning. As a student studying landscapes, I knew that the that the Kamuning (Murraya paniculata) isn’t just visual — it’s known for its heady, gentle fragrance that clings to the air. I was using my forestry background to ground the memory in a specific sensory reality.

Love as Dust

The folio was titled Alikabok at Takot, and I see now how I leaned into that theme. The central metaphor of the poem isn’t fire or oceans, but dust:

It’s a strange insight for my younger self to have had. Dust is quiet, inevitable, and persistent. No matter how much you clean (paspas), it returns. It implies a love that doesn’t necessarily burn, but one that simply is — setting into the crevices of a life whether you want it to or not.

The Only Footprint

It is eerie how the poem itself became the object it described. “Avelina” is about opening an old chest of memories to find a trace of someone past. Now, this physical folio is the only footprint I have left of this piece. It has become the memory covered in the dust of a decade, waiting to be opened again.

In an age where everything is backed up to the cloud, there is something grounding about holding the paper texture of your past work — knowing that if this paper disappears, the words go with it.

Here is “Avelina,” transcribed from that surviving page

Originally published in the UPLB Writers’ Club Folio “Alikabok at Takot” (c. 2015-2016)

Rating: ★★★★★ (5/5 Stars)

In the Philippines, “resilience” is often a romantic word used to describe the ability to endure suffering. But in Ronaldo S. Vivo Jr.’s Ang Ilusyon sa Kulay ng Ating Budhi, resilience is stripped of its romance. It is revealed for what it truly is in the dark underbelly of the city: a violent, desperate clawing for survival.

This is not a story about heroes. It is a “hardboiled” noir that serves as a clinical examination of how a broken system forces the human conscience (budhi) to change colors just to stay alive.

The Plot: Burgers, Bullets, and The Tragic Bridge

The narrative weaves together three colliding worlds, all suffocating under the weight of urban poverty.

First, there is the heist at Betty Burger. This isn’t a high-stakes bank job but a gritty, daily survival scheme. Dreb and his co-worker Alvin, along with the local tough Mango, operate as accomplices in robbing their exploitative employer. They don’t just work there; they bleed the inventory dry through “diskarte” by swapping buns, splitting patties, and pocketing the difference. It is a small rebellion born of hunger, a way to claw back dignity in a system designed to keep them poor.

Then, there is the tragedy of Mang Rolly, a humble barber. His world collapses when his daughter, Rina Mae, is brutally assaulted and paralyzed by her classmates, led by the politically connected Wendy. In a functioning society, Mang Rolly would find justice. In this reality, he finds only walls. The police are indifferent, and the bullies are protected by their surnames. Mang Rolly is not the action hero who buys a gun; he is the devastating reality of the Filipino victim who is powerless, weeping, and forced to sell his own barber chair just to pay his daughter’s hospital bills.

Connecting these two worlds is Elbis, a character who serves as the story’s tragic bridge. He is Rina Mae’s classmate and loyal friend, the only one who visits her to share a burger when she can no longer eat. But Elbis is also the brother of Mango, the gang leader orchestrating the robbery. He embodies the claustrophobic nature of the slums where the innocent best friend of the victim is blood-related to the city’s killers. It is through these thin, dangerous connections that the story spirals into its violent conclusion.

Finally, the violence spills into the streets. While Mang Rolly weeps, his daughter’s tormentors meet a gruesome end. The news reports the bullies found dead and robbed, but the story reveals the chaotic reality: Mango, Omeng, and Alvin are the ones entangled in the bloodshed. Alvin ends up shot and bleeding in a tricycle, fighting for his life in a hidden den, proving that in this world, retribution is messy and often fatal.

Commentary: A Mirror to the Philippine Reality

Vivo Jr.’s novel is a terrifyingly accurate mirror to the sociopolitical landscape of the Philippines.

1. The Web of Complicity. Elbis’ role highlights a painful truth about urban poverty: no one is truly separated from crime. Elbis is a “good kid,” yet his brother is a getaway driver for a gang. This reflects a society where survival forces families to straddle the line between the law and the underworld, often dragging the innocent into the crossfire.

2. The Myth of Honest Labor. Dreb, Alvin, and Mango’s conspiracy to rob Betty Burger deconstructs the idea that hard work pays off. In a country where the minimum wage cannot cover the minimum cost of living, “diskarte” becomes the true currency. They aren’t stealing because they are evil; they are stealing because the system has already stolen their future. The book asks an uncomfortable question: Is it a crime to cheat an exploiter, or is it survival?

3. Justice as a Luxury Good. Mang Rolly’s plight captures the most painful truth of all: Impunity. The realization that Wendy and her friends will never face jail time because of their relatives is a sentiment echoed in headlines every day. When the law is a commodity that only the rich can buy, the poor are left with two choices: suffer in silence (like Mang Rolly) or embrace the lawlessness of the gun (like Mango).

4. The Erosion of Conscience. The title, Ang Ilusyon sa Kulay ng Ating Budhi, hits hardest in the finale. Dreb, witnessing the carnage and the hopelessness of Mang Rolly’s path, makes a choice. He does not run to the police. He does not try to be a “good citizen.” In the chilling final lines, when Mango invites him to leave (”Tara?”), Dreb smiles and agrees (”Tara na”). He chooses the side of the violence. He chooses survival over morality.

Final Verdict

Ang Ilusyon sa Kulay ng Ating Budhi is a masterpiece of gritty realism. It refuses to offer the reader the comfort of a happy ending or a moral lesson. Instead, it forces us to look at the grime of the streets, the blood on the pavement, and the desperation in the eyes of our countrymen, and accept that for many, conscience is a luxury they cannot afford.

If you want to understand the rage, the sorrow, and the “hardboiled” truth of the Philippine urban poor, you must read this book.