ABOUT THIS MODULE

This Self-Learning Modules (SLMs) are prepared in response to the Distance Learning
and Blended Learning Approach of Our Lady of Lourdes College. Distribution of this booklet in
any means without authorization from the editor and administrators is highly prohibited.
This modular booklet contains topics for 21st Century Literature from the Philippines and
the World. For the first semester, literature from the Philippines is the main focus. The students
will be able to understand and appreciate the literary past and present of our country with varying
regional contexts and themes through a critical and close interpretation of the texts which will
then yield to a deeper perspective of our culture, society and its technological advances whether
in isolated or integrated view.
To properly guide the learners of how to use this module, here is a breakdown of the parts
of each module:

 Title: The title of each module easily describes the content of each module.
 Introduction: This give a short overview of the content of the module.
 Objectives: This part lists downs the competencies to be developed and achieved
by the learner in each module.
 Key Words and Concepts: This part provides words and concepts that are
reoccurring and significant in the module.
 Before You Begin: This part is a pre-assessment activity to refresh or recall
previous ideas that are related to the topic of the module.
 Language Lobby: This part provides exercises that can enhance the vocabulary
of
the learner.
 Dashboard: This part exposes the necessary information for each lesson. Each
module may contain several lessons that falls under the content
theme.
 Let’s Squeeze You Up: This part is an assessment activity that measures the
learners’ knowledge and comprehension capacity.
 Because Reading is Fundamental: This part provides a literary text that is
relevant to the topic.
 Note on Lit: This part is an assessment activity that measure the comprehension
and evaluation capacity of the learner relevant to the literary text.
 Work on It: This part is the final assessment activity of the module.
 Remember: This part summarizes the topic of the module.
 In Case You Want More: This part provides books, literature, articles and links
relevant to the topic which can enhance the learner’s
understanding of the topic.
 References: This part list downs the references used in the module.

This module is design as such to target different competencies necessary in increasing

he learner’s literary appreciation and critical understanding. Some parts may or may not be
present in some topics.

MODULE 3. The Present and Future of Philippine

Literature

To say that the literary scene of the Philippines is a growing art form is an
understatement. Throughout history, we’ve seen the adaptability of the Filipino writers which
contributed to the diversity of our literary texts. In the new millennium, a continuous growth is
affecting not just our daily activities but the art forms as well.

In this chapter, we will take a look at the different literary forms that have been added to
the shelves of the Filipino writers and readers.

OBJECTIVES

At the end of the learning experience, the learners are expected to:

 acquire different vocabulary words by using the dictionary;

 read literary texts in prose and poetry form;
 demonstrate their understanding of the new forms of literary texts;
 compare and contrast the various 21st century literary genres and the ones from
the earlier genres/periods citing their elements, structures and traditions;
 write their own literary piece of any form/genre/style.

KEY WORDS AND CONCEPTS

literature, prose, poetry, blog, speculative fiction, flash fiction, creative non-fiction,
graphic novel, chick lit

Has it ever occurred to you to write a story or a poem and share it to others? If so, what
was it about? What did your readers think about it? Share your experience of your writing
experience!
 Defining Words Using the Dictionary

Using a dictionary, find the meaning of the underlined words in each sentence.

______________1. Tigib ng halos walang hanggang posibilidad.

______________2. I wouldn’t have thought anything could live in that cesspool aside from rats

and roaches — then again, who knows?

______________3. O kasinggaling ko lang silang lahat sa pagkikimkim ng bagabag?

______________4. Ang hiraya mo ang nasa isip sa araw-araw ko.

______________5. Magpapambuno ang dalawa saka magkayapos na babagsak sa naghihintay na

karimlan.

Literary Genres in the 21st Century Philippine Literature

Creative nonfiction
Creative nonfiction is simple, succinct, and accurate as a literary genre of “True stories
well told”. It is “a branch of writing which uses literary techniques usually associated with
fiction or poetry to give life on real persons, places or events.” (Nordquist, 2015)
Creative nonfiction stands for both personal and public history. As a form, it utilizes
memory, experience, observation, opinion, and all kinds of research.
Example Titles:
 Sleepless in Manila edited by Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo
 “The Cardinal’s Sins, the General’s Cross, the Martyr’s Testimony, and Other
Affirmations” by Gregorio C. Brillantes
 “Manananggal Terrorizes Manila and Other Stories” by Jessica Zafra
Speculative Fiction
Speculative fiction asks and answers the question “What if?” and helps describe what one
is talking about. It encompasses the types of stories classified under the banners of fantasy,
science fiction, horror, magical realism, and surrealism, as well as the stories that fall in between
genre boundaries.
 According to Dean Francis Alfar (2012), speculative fiction is a type of story that deals
with observations of the human condition but offers the experience through a different lens,
which could either be through a crystal ball glowing with eldritch glamour, through a cascade of
information, riding tachyons in the cold void space, or from a dying man of horrific causes in a
house of shadows.
Example Titles:
 Salamanca by Dean Francis Alfar
 Smaller and Smaller Circles by F. H. Batacan
 Janus Silang at ang Tiyanak ng Tabon by Edgar Calabia Samar
Chick Lit
This is genre fiction, which “consists of heroin-centered narratives that focus on the trials
and tribulations of their individual protagonists”. The genre often addresses issues of modern
womanhood – from romantic relationships to female friendships to matters in the workplace – in
humorous and lighthearted ways.
Example Titles:
 Getting Better by Tara Sering
 Almost Married by Tara Sering
 Drama Queen by Abi Aquino
Flash Fiction
This refers to stories told using minimal number of words ranging from six-word short
stories in the extreme to not more than three to five hundred words.
Flash fiction goes by many names, including microfiction, microstories, short-shorts,
short short stories, very short stories, sudden fiction, postcard fiction and nanofiction. While it
can be difficult to pinpoint an exact definition of flash fiction based on word count, consideration
of several of its features can help provide clarity, like its brevity, length, background and
purpose.
Example Titles:
 ‘Wag Lang ‘Di Makaraos: 100 Dagli by Eros Atalia
 100 Kislap by Abdon Balde Jr.
 Karapote: Antolohia Dagiti 13 a Nasuerte A Sarita, by Ariel S. Tabag
Blog
A blog (shortening of “weblog”) is an online journal or informational website displaying
information in the reverse chronological order, with latest posts appearing first. It is a platform
where a writer or even a group of writers share their views on an individual subject.
Example Titles:
 Artsy Fartsy Ava by Ava Nicole
 DG Manila by David Guison
 Break My Style by Laureen Uy
Graphic Novels
The ‘graphic novel’ has existed as an art form arguably from the time our species learned
how to paint. However, the term has only been in use since the 1960’s, and though it’s often a
hotly debated issue, it’s generally accepted that a graphic novel is a longer work or collection of
works presented in ‘comics’ style.
Example Titles:
 After Lambana, Written by Eliza Victoria and Illustrated by Mervin Malonzo
  “Ella Arcangel Tomo Pangalawa: Awit ng Pangil at Kuko” by Julius Villanueva and
Mervin Malonzo
 Sa TImog ng Alameda, Created by Lola Larra and Vicente Reinamontes

Hyper Poetry
Hypertext poetry and hypertext fiction are new genres of literature that use the computer
screen as medium, rather than the printed page. The literary works rely on the qualities unique to
a digital environment, such as linked World Wide Web pages or effects such as sound and
movement. Hypertext “poetry” can consist of words, although not necessarily organized into
lines and stanzas, as well as, sounds, visual images, movement or other special effects. Although
the poem may be dazzling with sounds, perhaps of a lawnmower, while the words “mowing,”
“stop,” “Sunday,” and “morning” float across your computer screen in pseudo-three-dimensional
letters, one will have been hard pressed to identify the use of any formal poetics.
Mobile Phone Text/Tula
A cell phone novel, or mobile phone novel is a literary work originally written on a
cellular phone via text messaging. This type of literature originated in Japan, where it has
become a popular literary genre. However, its popularity has also spread to other countries
internationally, especially to China, United States, Germany, and South Africa. Chapters usually
consist of about 70-100 words each due to character limitations on cell phones.

Identify what is being asked/describe in each question.

______________1. This is different from a comic book for it focuses on character development
rather than the action.

______________2. This is a storytelling via text messaging.

______________3. This is putting the creativity into the factual and true-to-life activities.

______________4. True or False: Chick lit is always about damsels in distress.

______________5. This literary genre provides a different lens that could go beyond the
expected or even the unexpected making the literary text a different kind of its own.

______________6. This could be shorter than ten words or longer than four hundred words.

______________7. This is the written equivalent of vlogs.

______________8. This literary genre uses effects, designs, and other techy touches to the poem.

______________9. This form of literary text makes use of illustration to emphasize the
narrative.

______________10. True or false: Speculative Fiction is all about magic.

 The work you are about to study is from Palanca Awardee and National Book Awardee
Nikki Alfar. She’s edited more speculative fiction anthologies than she can count – there’ve been
many, and her math is egregious – including the acclaimed, annual Philippine Speculative
Fiction. By trade, she’s a marketing and corporate copywriter, meaning she writes fiction all the
time.

Adrift on the Street Formerly Known as Buendia

by Nikki Alfar

The Taxi Guy won’t take me any farther than the Ayala intersection, which I can’t blame him
for, really, because as early as this point the water’s already knee-deep, and it’s only going to get
worse down the street.

This happens a lot on Buendia (which is supposed to be named Gil Puyat now, only I don’t
think anyone but the Post Office actually calls it that) in the wet season. Every year (or so I’m
told) they muck out the sewers; and every year it floods anyway, drastically and chronically, at
even the slightest hint that the sky might be vaguely considering rain. You’d think that no one
would keep on living in this area anymore, but it’s not like any of us can afford to move. Or at
least I can’t.

I don’t even know if I’ll be able to pay the rent once the deposit that Jimmy put down runs
out, but for now I’m stuck in my condo, if not permanently on this corner. I’ve gotten the hang of
how things work in the couple of months I’ve been here. I know a manong will be along soon,
piloting a transformed tricycle with the motorcycle part replaced by a bike and the seat jacked up
to what used to be shoulder level, or a wooden cart with one or two monobloc benches strapped
haphazardly to its surface with plastic straw — in either case charging some ridiculous but
incontestable amount to get people home safe and sound, if not entirely dry.

I’m hoping it’s a cart manong who shows up, really, because with the seat propped so high
you have to totally hunch over in those tricycles, almost like a fetus; and besides, there are
already two people in line ahead of me and I don’t want to have to wait around any more than I
absolutely have to, although thankfully the actual rain has finally stopped. (And of course I don’t
have an umbrella; no one does, it’s one of those evil Manila days that started out like the
scorching height of summer and then turned traitor right after lunch.)

I’m sure my mother would be just as relieved not to have to share with strangers, but I’ve
discovered that in these situations people who have nothing else in common are suddenly willing
to chatter away like old chums, which I admit isn’t always desirable, but there you go:
catastrophe (or the current local equivalent, anyway) makes strangers into neighbors, something
that doesn’t happen all too often in the city.
 These two in front of me, for instance: I’m sure I would never think of talking to them under
ordinary circumstances. I mean, the girl seems normal enough; in fact, she’s spectacularly pretty,
even though she’s wearing a horrible fuschia glitter t-shirt with the words ‘Kiss Me Quick!’
embossed on it. But the guy is wearing something that looks like a diver’s wetsuit, a one-piece
rubbery getup in black and bright blue, so I’m trying not to stare at him, which isn’t easy. At
least you could say he’s dressed for the weather, unlike me in my one good suit and formerly
good heels.

He’s obviously thinking along the same lines, because when manong finally arrives (with a
cart, thank you Lord!) and we clamber aboard, Diver Guy says, “Too bad about your shoes. They
look expensive.”

They are, too — or they were — blush-colored Nine Wests that were a present from Jimmy
back when things were good (although even then I noticed that the shoes had faint scuff marks
on the soles, but I was stupidly in love and brilliant at making excuses to explain away all the
things I didn’t want to understand).

I go, “It’s okay. If I get the job I interviewed for today, it’ll be worth it,” as I settle in to my
position in the middle of the bench. (It’s Buendia Flood Etiquette that the third person in line
gets the least desirable position — not that the sides of a precariously perched monobloc are
exactly the lap of luxury, but at least you get an armrest and you’re only squashed on one side by
your companions.)

“Oh?” he says, zipping the collar of his wetsuit up and down a couple of inches (not in a
gross way, just sort of idly). “What kind of job?”

“Call center,” I say. I’ve already been training myself to say it without cringing, so it rolls out
nice and smooth, even though of course I’m still thinking: graduated with honors in Comp Lit,
and this is what I’m doing?

“That’s good money,” Diver Guy says. “Are you transferring from another call center, or just
starting?”

“Just starting,” I say. “I used to be a dentist’s assistant.”

“Wait, that’s good money too, later on,” he says. “Not to say anything about call centers. I’m
sure they pay much more at the start, but it’s a waste if you have dental training.”

“I don’t,” I tell him. “I only became a dental assistant because...” Okay, hang on, camaraderie
in the face of catastrophe is one thing, but there are limits to how much I’m willing to share here.
“I just kind of fell into it.”

I look away from Diver Guy and focus instead on the water swirling past us as Cart Manong
trudges forward. It’s around thigh-high here, and things are floating around in it: squashed
cigarette butts, translucent plastic bags, a ragged square of carton. Dirt too, of course, though it
colors the water brownish-gray instead of being visible on its own; and I’d rather not think about
what else is in there that I don’t see. It can’t be pleasant to be immersed in.

Poor Manong; but at least he’s making a killing at twenty bucks a passenger just to go down
the street. I look over at him and see that he’s wearing a flimsy cardstock crown, like the kind
they gave out at my nephew’s last birthday party, only with just three points in front instead of
all the way around; more Wonder Woman than Burger King, maybe. Anyway, it’s open on top
and doesn’t protect him from the rain at all, so who knows why he’s wearing it? It’s just
Buendia, I guess; the rain comes down and the weirdos come out. (And it’s not that I’m being
snotty, exactly; I figure I fit right in.)

“What about you, what do you do?” T-shirt Girl, from my other side, asks Diver Guy. “And
why is it you’re wearing a diving outfit?” Wow, obviously they’re not big on manners in Fuschia
Glitter Land, or at least she doesn’t have her mother’s voice perpetually in the back of her mind,
telling her what is and isn’t proper to talk about. (And yes, I know a lot of things wouldn’t have
turned out the way they did if I’d listened more, but I will never admit that to you, so shut up,
Mental Mama.)

“I’m a marine biologist,” says Diver Guy. “I study aquatic life.”

“You mean in Manila Bay?” I ask, unable to prevent my voice from squeaking up a couple of
registers. I mean, obviously, it’s the only sizeable body of water close enough for him to already
be wearing his wetsuit (though that’s still weird, if you ask me), but I wouldn’t have thought
anything could live in that cesspool aside from rats and roaches — then again, who knows?
Maybe all the pollutants everyone dumps in the bay have caused the rats and roaches to mutate
into some new kind of amphibious life form, and that’s why he’s studying them.

“No, no, right here,” he says, and I smile because that’s exactly the joke my train of thought
was leading me to, that if anyone wanted to study aquatic vermin or pollution-spawned fungi all
they’d have to do is come visit Buendia on a rainy day like today.

But it seems like he’s actually serious, because he goes on with, “We forget, don’t we, that
the wellspring of life continues to flow even in the most unlikely places, whether by accident or
design,” and I don’t have anything to say to that, so I look at T-shirt Girl to see if she thinks he’s
as wacky as I suddenly do, only she’s looking at him with disgusting dewy-eyed admiration, like
he’s MacArthur slogging through the surf at Leyte or something.

Then Diver Guy says, “In fact, I should really get to work,” and, holding his nose like a kid
on the edge of a diving board, stands up and steps right off the edge of the cart.

“Wait!” I try to say; but he’s already gone, which is ridiculous, because the water isn’t even
above Cart Manong’s waist yet, and no one who isn’t, you know, vertically challenged like
Mahal should be swallowed up by water that’s no more than three feet deep, but Diver Guy has
completely disappeared.

“Did you see that?” I ask the world in general; but Manong doesn’t seem to hear me, so I
address it to T-shirt Girl, who’s staring at the water, but doesn’t seem particularly fazed. In fact,
she’s smiling. “Did you see that?!”

“It’s nice to find out that a man can be so devoted,” she says, smiling even wider to reveal
annoyingly perfect pearly teeth.

“He just vanished!” I lean farther toward the side of the cart and look down, but all I see is
debris and dirty water. Maybe he landed badly, and twisted his foot, and fell. Maybe he stepped
straight into an open manhole. Either way, he could be drowning and no one else seems to care.

“I mean, obviously it’s to his work, but still,” T-shirt Girl says, “it’s nice to see such
commitment in a human male. Do you think he’d be the same way in a relationship?”

I should go in after him, I think (even if he is quite possibly a lunatic), but I’m scared
Manong will just leave me and I’ll have to slog through the filthy water on my own all the rest of
the way home. What if I’m the one who falls through an open manhole? In these stupid heels,
too; I could break an ankle. Maybe Diver Guy is just fine and — I don’t know — swimming
around, catching cockroaches underwater. No one else is worried, so maybe I’m overreacting,
like Jimmy always says.

“Not that I’ve known many human males, you understand,” T-shirt Girl goes on. “I’ve only
been on land for some few days, but it certainly appears as if they’re not very —”

I finally make some sense (if not exactly achieving comprehension) of what she’s saying.
“What?”
 “Reliable,” she says, twining a lock of hair in her fingers in that coquettish way I can’t stand.
“You know, my father warned me that it was foolish to leave everything I knew behind, but love
makes people foolish, don’t you think?”

I can’t help but stare this time; she’s hitting too close to home, and I’m starting to think that
maybe I’m on one of those TV prank shows somehow. Joey de Leon hosts one, doesn’t he?

“Where’s the camera?” I turn my stare into a glare, hoping I look threatening and not quite as
idiotic as I feel.

“I know what a camera is!” she says. “He liked to use one when we were together; he said it
would give him something to remember when he got hitched.”

“How did you know he was married?” I try to snarl this at her, but it comes out as a weak
little whisper; because I never told anyone but Rina, and she swore never to breathe a word, and
I’m going to kill her, that bitch of a supposed best friend.

“I didn’t,” T-shirt Girl says. “I didn’t know what ‘hitched’ means; I only found out later,
when he told me he’s getting married next week.”

I realize she’s not talking about me (How self-centered can I get, honestly?), and she’s about
to cry; her eyes are all shiny, though in a pretty way, like brand-new marbles before they get
scarred from being played with.

“Well, a lot can happen in a week,” I say, hating myself even as the words come out. Why
am I trying to give her false hope? “I mean, you could wake up tomorrow and find that you’re
completely over him, just like that.” I snap my fingers, improvising. “You never know.”

She does start to cry then, and I look away so she can maybe compose herself. The water is
almost up to Manong’s chest now, and something swirls past the cart that’s way too big to be a
rat, not even one of those cat-sized rats you catch sight of, running on top of electric wires at
night. It swishes by too fast to really see, and probably the muddiness of the water is messing up
its real color anyway, but it almost looks purple, bright purple like ube ice cream; and it’s
moving like something alive.

“I don’t have a week. I don’t have any more time,” T-shirt Girl sobs; and now I see that it’s
not just her eyes that are shiny, it’s everything about her — skin, clothes, hair — gleaming
suddenly as if she’s been wrapped in transparent plastic. I have no idea what’s happening (which
seems to be the theme of my day and, possibly, my life); but I want to comfort her despite the
fact that she seems to be the kind of girl I ordinarily detest, so I touch her shoulder gently.

My hand passes right through her. I snatch it back and stare at it; and my hand is covered in
bubbles, like I’ve been washing the dishes. I look back up at T-shirt Girl and she’s turning into
bubbles: first, different-colored ones, still in more or less the outline of a human being, in all the
shades of her hair and skin and clothes; then pure white foam that slips through the oblong air
holes on the monobloc bench and spatters down into the film of water that’s by now washed over
the surface of the wooden cart (and my once-expensive shoes).

I can’t seem to think what I should say or do. I want to reach forward and shake Cart Manong
by the shoulders (since he never seems to hear me), screaming like the proverbial Sisa; but
frankly, I’m afraid to. Less afraid that he’ll be upset or get distracted and stumble, really, than
that he’ll twist around and turn out to be — I don’t know — maybe the Creature from the Black
Lagoon, the way things are going.

I don’t know where I am anymore. I’ve been too distracted to pay attention; but it’s pretty
clear now that this is no longer Buendia, though I can see my condo building — just the very top
of it with its ‘In God We Trust’ logo — in the distance behind us, as if we’d gone past it already
when I’m pretty damned sure we didn’t, at least not in any kind of way that obeys the laws of
physics as I know them, not that what I know seems to count for very much in whatever place
this is that I’ve somehow slipped into.

I wipe my bubbly hand on my suit jacket and keep my mouth shut, as what’s left of T-shirt
Girl floats farther and farther away on the brownish-gray surf.

I’m hardly surprised at all when a small boy pops out of the water and climbs aboard the cart
and onto the bench beside me. He looks like a typical little street urchin with his tanned skin and
orange-and-brown sun-striped hair, except for the wide flaps of — skin? — that stretch from his
wrists to his ankles on either side, like a miniature manta ray. (Or a regular-sized manta ray, I
guess, if you think about it; and obviously this isn’t the most useful thing for me to be thinking
about in this situation, but I’m just yammering away in my head right now, because it’s hard to
make sense when the world refuses to.)

“You’re not pregnant, you know,” Manta Boy says; and it should probably stun me that he
knows exactly what I’ve been trying not to worry about for the last week and a half, but I think
I’ve gone beyond amazement now.

I’m just looking at the water. It’s still filthy; and it’s obviously much deeper than it has any
right to be (and obviously Cart Manong is much taller than any human being ought to be). And I
could drown in it; or lose my bearings and never find my way home (and besides, you can’t go
home again, isn’t that what they say? It’s what Mama said, anyway) or be attacked by who
knows what else is swimming around down there that is probably much, much worse than Diver
Guy or Manta Boy. It would be foolish to leave what little I still do know, when I could just stay
where I am.

“It’s only that you haven’t even let yourself cry,” says Manta Boy. “You’ll dry up completely
if you keep holding it all in. You need to learn to go with the flow.”

I stand up and look at him. Skin flaps aside, he’s adorable, really: big earnest eyes, and the
beginnings of awesome cheekbones that will have girls falling all over him when he’s older.
Especially if he becomes whatever the weird aquatic equivalent is of a professional: a doctor, a
lawyer, or even just a dentist.

“You shut up,” I tell him. “None of it is any of your business anyway, any of you.” And I
take off my suit jacket, take off my hand-me-down shoes from my hand-me-down lover, take a
breath, and dive in before I can change my mind.

The literary text you just read is an example of a speculative fiction which asks the
question “What if?”. One notable theme going on thru the story is the female perspective.

As your activity, your main objective is to dive into the story to flesh out how Nikki Alfar
put this female perspective into the genre of speculative fiction. Answer these questions to help
yu reach your goal:

1. What was your initial reaction after reading the short story?
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
 2. Describe the main character of the story. What can you say about her personality?
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
3. Describe the other characters. What distinct qualities do they have? Are they contrasting
or in conflict with the main character’s personality?
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
4. Notice the location and situation they are in. Do you think the urban setting and the flood
situation represents something? If so, what do you think it is?
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
5. Do you think what he sees and experience are real? Why or why not?
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________

`
Master scriptwriter and author Ricky Lee tasks his screenplay students to challenge their
narrative skills by looking into different perspective. He reminds them to draw tories from very
unlikely objects, events, people, and places. To help them find inspiration, “Bodega Search” is
one of the activities they do. In this, they will visit their own home storage spaces to find objects
that may or may not be familiar to them. Using that object, they will ask themselves “What
if…?”.

For your final activity, you will write your own speculative fiction. Try the “Bodega
Search” prompt to help you find inspiration on your “What if?” stories.
 The literary scene of our country is thriving. Its adaptability to change introduces its
writers and readers to different literary genres that are on brand to the innovation (i.e.
technology, internet, futuristic). Despite the great difference it has to the previous written genres
both in the local and global aspect, literature in the Philippines is slowly gearing its pages to
become a naturally accepted art form in the daily lives of the Filipinos.

Through creative nonfiction, speculative fiction, blogging, graphic novels and the likes,
our present remnants will be recorded and be made available for the future generation.

Literature:

May Tiktik sa Bubong, May Sigbin sa Silong by Allan Derain

Walong Diwata ng Pagkahulog by Edgar Calabia Samar

Makinilyang Altar by Luna Sicat-Cleto

The Philippines and the World, 21st Century Literature, Bautista, Richard, De Guia, Lani,

Frondozo, Wenifreda R., Trinitas Publishin Inc, 2017, ISBN 978-971-42-1198-8

Trip to Quiapo: Scriptwriting Manual, Lee, Ricky Bagong Likha Pub., 1998, ISBN

9719198001, 9789719198000

Retrieved from https://21stcenturylitph.wordpress.com/introduction-to-philippine-literature/

Retrieved from http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue375/adrift.html