Mary Joy Cutamora

Ramon (18) woke up in a dark and cramped room. Beside him was an old man named Fredo (63) who was desperately carving at the wall to make a hole. The place they were in was dimly lit, and the only sounds they could hear were their breathing and the scraping noise of the nail against the wall. As they spent long hours making the hole, they also got to know each other and reminisced about their experiences that led them to their current situation. The hole exposed how thirty people managed to fit into a small jail cell behind a bookshelf, unveiling the mystery of the confinement and injustice system.

Ramon (18) woke up in a dark and cramped room. Beside him was an old man named Fredo (63) who was desperately carving at the wall to make a hole. The place they were in was dimly lit, and the only sounds they could hear were their breathing and the scraping noise of the nail against the wall. As they spent long hours making the hole, they also got to know each other and reminisced about their experiences that led them to their current situation. The hole exposed how thirty people managed to fit into a small jail cell behind a bookshelf, unveiling the mystery of the confinement and injustice system.

In a restroom where the dead must confess or release their sins before entering the afterlife, a woman struggles to face—and smell—the weight of her meaningless life.

In a household ruled by a domineering patriarch, a young reserved woman clings on to a cassette tape gifted by someone from her past – reliving their shared moments of love and defiance to find her own path.

Friends undergo their routinely neon-ecstasy-fueled-trip; discovering not just the city but also themselves.

Friends undergo their routinely neon-ecstasy-fueled-trip; discovering not just the city but also themselves.

Friends undergo their routinely neon-ecstasy-fueled-trip; discovering not just the city but also themselves.

Friends undergo their routinely neon-ecstasy-fueled-trip; discovering not just the city but also themselves.