2024 Winners

I was twelve when it happened.
I was twelve when it happened.

I was at home.
I was at school.

I was supposed to be safe there.
I never felt safe there.

It was supposed to be a place of love and care, not violence and destruction.
It was only ever a popularity contest, filled with people who only cared about
themselves.

I never expected it to happen.
Even still, I never expected it to happen.

I was eating dinner with my sister while my parents were at work.
I was eating lunch alone.

When I heard the window shatter.
When I heard the first scream.

Time froze.
Time froze.

I only saw him for a split second,
I shut my eyes as hard as I could and crouched under the table.

I covered my little sister’s mouth and ran upstairs, trying my hardest to keep quiet.
I started crying, I couldn’t keep quiet.

I went to the safe to grab the one thing I knew could save us.
My thoughts scattered as more screams rang, trying to remember all the safety videos
I’d watched.

We hid in the bedroom as I waited for the right moment.
Run in zig zags. Look for an exit. Or was I supposed to stay hidden?

The bedroom door creaked open.
It was too late to move, he had found me.

And I shot him.
And he shot me, then he shot himself.

It was at that moment I knew I’d never forget his face.
It was at that moment I knew I’d never forget his face.

He fell.
We both fell.

There was so much blood.
There was so much blood.

I tried not to feel bad, I did what I needed to do.
I had no idea what to do.

The police showed up.
The police finally came.

They told me I did well, defending myself and my sister.
They yelled at us all to walk out with our hands up.

I breathed a sigh of relief.
I cried until I couldn’t breathe.

I eventually wondered,
I immediately started to wonder,

what if I never had that gun?
what if he never had that gun?

My sister and I could’ve died.
Nobody would have died.

It saved me.
It killed everybody.

Fumbling with my hands in my lap, I tried my best to wipe off the sweat that had been slowly accumulating on my palms.

Going home for the holidays always felt so nerve wracking, even while I was growing up. All of the memories from my childhood came flooding back to me, the good and the bad, as the car turned off the main road and into the neighborhood I had grown up in.

My partner took one of my hands into his own and gave me a reassuring squeeze, reminding me that he was there to support me in any way I needed. A small smile spread across my lips as I sighed deeply. I don’t even know how I’d do all this without them here by my side. They know how difficult it is for me to be back home after almost 10 years.

To say things didn’t go well last time I had seen my parents would be an understatement, it was disastrous.

My 18 year old self had finally mustered up the courage to come out to my parents as transgender after what felt like an eternity of experimenting. Of course, I was still very insecure about labeling my newfound identity and openly identifying as transgender. My family’s lack of support did not help though.

The driver that picked us up from the hotel turned into the cul-de-sac where I had first learned to ride my bike. We immediately pulled into the driveway and it felt like all the air in my lungs suddenly escaped. This was it.

Getting out of the car, I could practically hear all the things that had been said last time echo through my mind. My body tensed with each step towards the front door.

What if nothing has changed? What if they don’t even recognize me after all these things I’ve done to my body since they last saw me? What if they turn me away still? What if they don’t accept me and who I am again? What if they still deadname me and use the wrong pronouns? Will they still claim it is not part of our Filipino culture, our Catholic religion to identify this way? Are they going to judge the lifestyle I’ve comfortably lived for the past couple of years?

I suddenly felt like I was 18 years old again staring at the bright red front door. Last time, my back was turned from this door as I had been walking away. Would this be the same as last time though?

Finally, I knocked a few times on the front door. Distant chatter could be heard on the other side, everyone clearly wondering who was at the door. “Do you think it’s too late to turn back?” I asked my partner who just gave me the look.

The door opened and my mother stood in the doorway with a puzzling look. Her eyes danced all over my face and my body as she tried to figure out who I was. While she’ll always be my mother, do I even call her mom in this moment? My blood ran cold as the minutes ticked by and neither of us uttered a word. Will she turn me away?

Her lips curled into a smile and her arms instantly wrapped around my body. “Merry Christmas, Jason,” my mom whispered in my ear. We stood like that for a moment before she moved onto my partner and ushered us inside.

“We have some more guests! Jason and his partner have stopped by!” My mom announced as we took off our shoes at the entrance. Cheers erupted from the dining room where the rest of the family awaited for the unexpected company.

Peering around the corner, I saw all of my siblings and their plus one, my grandparents, and my dad sitting at the dining room table. The rice pot and multiple bowls of different ulam were distributed evenly among the rest of my relatives.

“Come, come and sit down now anak. I’ve made your favorite,” my mom excitedly said as she pulled some seats for my partner and I. I sat next to my brother who had a new girlfriend seated on the other side of him.

“Hey babe, this is the brother I had been telling you about. The one who became a writer after college and started his own bakery a few years ago,” my brother introduced me.

My ears perked up at the correct use of gender when he referred to me. Tears threatened to spill as everyone continued through the different conversations of how our lives have been going recently. It all felt so foreign to have everyone refer to me with the correct name and everything, yet it felt so euphoric. Never in my life did I think my family would be accepting and use the correct vocabulary to refer and talk to me. For the past decade I believed that they would always see me as their daughter instead of their son, refer to me with my birth name, my deadname instead of the name I had chosen. As I sat there though and drank from the bowl of soup my mom served me, I knew that I was finally home. I was finally home and I could finally be part of my family in the body and identity I felt most comfortable. At last, the war I had been fighting internally was over.

There is a grief that is often not talked about.
It weaves through the air like a fragmented breeze, etching chills and cuts as it touches flesh.
There is an eerie feeling as it engulfs you. It plagues your being and leaves you
paralyzed with loneliness.
There is a grief that burns you, and sometimes you don’t realize the damage
until the fire touches you.
Mourning someone consumes you, and threatens to break you down until
there is nothing left.
There is a grief in mourning someone who is still alive; it is an unspoken grief
that most are too scared to utter aloud.
It is a bitter grief; one that infects and spreads like the poison of ivy.
You watch them live their separate life without you. The feelings of anger and
sadness spill out but stay separated like oil and water. You yearn for the
memories, but you remember the nights in which you held your arms, tears
streaming down your reddened cheeks.
There is a grief in watching them change from someone you loved into a
stranger.
It is an unspoken grief, but a grief that consumes your very soul.
People tell you to move on, they say your grief will simmer and fade like the
ash of a flame.

They are not dead, they remind you, they are alive and well.
But there is a grief nonetheless, a mourning that encapsulates you in the wake
of their presence. They will grow without you and learn of life and its
complexities with someone else.
There is a grief in watching them unbothered as they laugh with their friends.
There is a grief in the nights you lie awake and rub your sullen eyes, cheeks
bruised from the outpour of tears.
There is a grief in their absence. You reminisce about calling them when things
got tough. They would always bring out the best in you.
You miss how happy you were around them.
You miss the good times you shared when life got rough.
And now they are hidden behind the veil of a memory, and no matter how far
you reach out, your heart beckons you to stop.

The pain they projected onto you became poison that flowed through your
veins, and as much as your times of bliss might cloud your judgment, the
conclusion you draw will still be the same.
You are better off apart.
And you watch as a part of you becomes a distant thought, and there will be
bitterness in the change. The healing process will be gradual; the void in your
heart will feel agonizing when your song comes on the radio.
As you grow, they will reminisce as well, and there will come a time when you
exchange a parting glance.
The grief will disappear and be replaced with joy, for while you will slowly
move apart, your separate lives accomplishing separate goals,
You will smile at what you once were,

And thank them for their love.

A screen-ridden world we’ve gone astray,

With strong grip of the social media.

They make us one near, no matter how far,

But leave invisible wounds on our soul.

These likes and comments become our lifeblood,

As we run after validation in this cyber dream.

Nonetheless, within the facade, under it,

There is a deeper truth that even nobody can

find. The Internet is a double-edged knife

It brings people closer while isolating them from those near them.

Comparing ourselves to others steals our joy;

We measure ourselves against each girl and boy.

These perfect lives and images we exhibit

Are creating envy and feeding the continuum of this addiction.

Self-regard is fragile and easily shattered,

And so many are silent in comparing themselves too much.

Cyberbullying lightened by anonymity;

Hurtful words spoken behind screens under cover of invisibility cause chaos still waters run deep.

Mental health sold easily on digital grounds;

Digital skies where mental health can be bought or sold with ease.

Cracks in souls result from an urge to fit in

Leaving spaces deep down within us all that’s broken.

But amid all the noise and digital din there’s a chance for authenticity to let itself out.

That might permit authenticity, something like that amidst all the noise and digital din.

Dear humanity, through listening I am helping to spread kindness around, For making a more real internet community.

Its impact is massive; its reach is vast;

Yet, don’t let its metrics be your last definition.