The VANGUARD

FEATURE | Last Bullets

BANGG!

Echoing through the halls of what is thought to be a revered place comes a piercing sound that deafens the ears. Not a balloon popping or a glass breaking, gunshots were fired inside the Senate of the Philippines on the 13th day of May, 2026, the first time in history. The cameras were on, the stage was set, and the actors were thrilled enough like in any other movie—except this time, it was already the reality.

BANG!

Of course, we have a main character whose physique looks tough, words are a bluff, and a heart as solid as a rock. He played his role well, flaunted his talent and power and earned the so-called ‘honor’ after dealing with another kind of rock. The street lights flickered as he walked the streets carrying the destructive weapon that dealt with the small-time villains under his sight. The damage was immense yet not enough to capture the mastermind. Even so, the street rats swept the debris of truth left in pockets of those who were wronged and replaced the lingering smell of his rotten core with the sweet scent of their fabricated success.

BANg!

Left buried were the traces of agony they left on the people. Yet, he remained at the top of the pyramid, enjoying the wind that touches his shiny head while ignoring the people gasping for air. Despite not carrying the same destructive weapon, he still sat there with his new power he gained from the same people he trampled on. With less rocks to aim for, he thought the game was finished. Still, the loyalty remained to his old master who had been kidnapped into the foreign land. He even shouted that through the aim of his power, even I could still SEE the target beyond the SEA.

BAng!

His voice has lost its noise. For once, he used a silencer to cover up his tracks. He stopped showing up to the set. Days became weeks and eventually lasted months. The crew questioned whether his salary was still worthy. His fans became uneasy. All calls were ignored. Suddenly, it turned out it’s the SEA who could SEE the path he tried to erase and the curtain that hides his figure.

He no longer hides in the shadows. Heavy footsteps appear on the red carpet. Now, he’s faced the paparazzi and answered his bashers.Then he pleaded before his critics.

bang

Once very far, the SEA comes closer to SEE him.

At last, with no other options, he comes back to the stage to continue on acting. He made it his shelter. He argued with the crew and made the cameramen his bodyguard. No, it is not a movie and absolutely not fiction. He never was the main character. Just a lowly villain enjoying his air time before the SEA catches him. And now, that son of a gun would start counting his last bullets.



Article by Angela Frayco
Illustration by April Ragudo
Layout by Sophie Drilon

FEATURE | Caged Survival Instincts

The streets wake before the sun as an endless game of patintero, where every step is measured, every line a barrier, and survival quietly becomes its own punishment.

Every year, Labor Day arrives wrapped in speeches, banners, and carefully chosen words of gratitude. Workers are called heroes, builders of the nation, and pillars of progress. Yet when the noise fades, what remains is a reality that does not change with celebration. In many ways, it resembles a game of patintero—workers move within invisible lines, timing every step, avoiding barriers, knowing that one mistake can send them back to where they started. In the Philippines, labor is praised in public but strained in private. And for many, survival is not honored—it is demanded.

The promise of dignity in teaching is often written in law but lived in exhaustion. Under House Bill 535, a proposed measure aimed at improving teacher compensation, there are plans to raise salaries, provide allowances, and recognize the weight teachers carry every day. On paper, it sounds like long-overdue justice. In reality, many educators still stretch their salaries across rising costs, delayed adjustments, and unmet promises. They teach futures they may never fully get to experience themselves—standing in front of classrooms while quietly worrying about how to make ends meet.

Beyond the classroom, distant decisions find their way into empty pockets. When geopolitical tensions disrupt key oil routes like the Strait of Hormuz, fuel prices rise almost instantly. What begins as conflict far away becomes a heavier burden at home. Jeepney drivers are forced to stop operations as diesel becomes impossible to sustain. A 5,000-peso subsidy is released, but by then, survival has already become far more expensive than that—measured not just in pesos, but in lost income, missed meals, and uncertain tomorrows.

These are not isolated struggles—they are symptoms of the same system. Workers across industries wake up early, return home late, and repeat the cycle without certainty of rest. They adjust their lives to match prices that never stop rising and wages that never seem enough. Every day becomes a calculation: what can be skipped, what can be delayed, what must be endured—just to make it to tomorrow.

The phrase “survival of the fittest” sounds natural, even justified, until it is applied to systems that are anything but fair. Fitness is no longer about strength—it is about how long one can endure pressure without breaking. But what kind of fairness demands exhaustion as proof of worth? The truth is, survival here is not about ability. It is about who is forced to carry the heaviest weight the longest.

Exhaustion is everywhere, but it is often mistaken for resilience. People are praised for enduring hardship as if suffering were a skill to be admired. But admiration does not pay rent, and resilience does not refill empty cupboards. There is a difference between choosing to persist and being forced to endure—and that difference is where injustice hides in plain sight.

The system rarely speaks loudly—it does not need to. It operates through delays, rising costs, and “temporary” solutions that quietly become permanent. It survives because those affected are too busy trying to survive. And in that silence, imbalance becomes normal. Normal becomes acceptable. Acceptable becomes permanent.

Silence, in this system, is not neutral. It is rewarded. It allows those in power to remain comfortable while others carry the cost of that comfort. The longer people endure without resistance, the easier it becomes to treat their struggles as normal, even necessary. Those who benefit from the system do not need to enforce it loudly; silence does the work for them. But when shared hardship begins to be recognized for what it truly is, not isolated but repeated and allowed, the illusion of fairness starts to crack. What once seemed untouchable begins to look like something that was simply never questioned enough.

Labor Day tells us to celebrate workers, but it rarely asks why they are struggling this much in the first place. It honors their strength without questioning who keeps testing it. It acknowledges their sacrifices without holding anyone accountable for demanding them. And that is where the real problem lies—not in the workers, but in the systems that keep them trapped. Because as long as those systems remain untouched, survival will always feel like punishment.

Maybe the real question is not how strong workers are, but why strength is the only thing they are allowed to have. Why are they expected to endure endlessly, adapt without complaint, and carry burdens that were never meant to be theirs alone? Strength, in this sense, stops being a virtue and becomes an expectation imposed by a system that benefits from their silence. A society does not reveal its progress through celebration or carefully crafted praise. It reveals it through what it refuses to ignore, through how quickly it responds to injustice, and through how little suffering it allows to persist unnoticed. When hardship becomes ordinary, when exhaustion is mistaken for resilience, and when survival is treated as enough, progress is not being measured. It is being quietly denied.

Survival should not be the price of living—but here, it is the only currency left.

This Labor Day, we demand better.




Article by Chrysler David Pascual
Cartoon by Sophie Drilon, April Ragudo and Xyruz Mondragon
Layout by Sophie Drilon

Vigilant. Vocal. Visionary.

The VANGUARD believes that education should not come at the expense of creative expression.

This year’s issue explores the place of the institution within an academic system that can, at times, present challenges for artistic expression. Within this context, The VANGUARD becomes part of the school’s ongoing effort to preserve its identity as an art-centered institution. Through its stories, it aims to provide a space where creativity can continue to exist, even as the broader landscape of education continues to change.

As such, the issue also discusses ongoing national and local issues — expressing the publication and its writer’s stance and thoughts on issues that define the system managing the country in today’s age.

To access this year’s issue, you may click the link below:

https://online.fliphtml5.com/ELJTheVANGUARD/iiih/

The VANGUARD will continue to be a publication that is for the students and the masses. Through this year’s issue, the crusade for a Vigilant, a Vocal, and a Visionary campus press persists.



(For a better experience, reading this year’s issue on a laptop or a tablet is highly recommended)

Caption by King Razon and Ava Villaluna
PubMat by Noah Barro and Sophie Drilon

PISTAGENIO JR. | SaliSalik Production of MA 11-Radio shined at the stage as they flourished the whole ELJ with melody and as a result, they’ve bagged the Best Musical Award this Pistagenio Jr. 2026.




Photos, caption & layout by: Chrysler Pascual