The crawling traffic going toward Pasay City* exhausted her excitement and energy, and the 38 degrees hotness stilled the dry air outside and forebade circulation inside the bus. The alternating, impatient honking of cars and jeepneys* caused her head to ache, worsen by the persistent bawl of the vendor who climbed inside the bus.

She turned her head away from the square glassless window to her mother on her other side, and grumbled about the heat. Her mother swung to and fro more briskly the plastic, heart-shaped fan she was holding, and complained to no one in particular about the traffic and the searing summer heat.

She had two other sisters and one brother. Her older sister, Priscella, was having an excursion in the north, while her older brother Roy was taking an entrance exam in a university. The eldest, Maureen, had not been living with them for three months now. She could have stayed with her aunt eleven doors away from their cheap apartment, but there were too many children there and she didn't want to compete with them to get her share of toy or food. Besides, she had never been to Mall of Asia* before, and she had heard from her classmates in the eight grade class that it was the largest and most beautiful mall in the whole of Manila. When her mother told her yesterday that they would be going there today, her excitement was pouring out of the glass. She even woke up early today, the way she always would when tomorrow promised something for her. Despite what they were experiencing now, she still did not regret her going with her mother.

When she turned her head back to look outside, what greeted her was a hill of stinky and decaying garbage in the distance right along the sidewalk, beside a row of vendors selling ice-cold juice, rice cakes, sugar-coated peanuts and banana cues. She grunted as she covered her nose with both her hands.

Her mother turned to look at her, and remarked, "That's what happens to our surrounding when people lacks discipline."

"Can't they smell it?" she asked.

"They can. But they're too lazy to clean it up," said her mother as her eyes fixed on hers. "What did I always tell you 'bout it?"

She halfway pulled back her hands as she answered, "Don't throw my trash just anywhere. After eating candies I put the wrapper in my pocket and look for a trash bin."

"That's what old people should also do. Do not follow what they did with that garbage because it's wrong. OK?"

She briskly nodded her head and said, "And, and not follow what they say if it is wrong."

Her mother smiled at her and said, "Good girl."

Her mother brushed her hair with her right hand, adoring her. And then flashed that smile again. But she could see the lack of sparkles in her mother's eyes. She'd noticed it yesterday, but she'd just ignored it. This morning she noticed it again, and she knew this time something wasn't right. Her mother lost her ardor today, too, and that smile she gave her lacked width and depth. She knew something was troubling her mother; she just hoped she was old enough to find out and help her.



Maureen sat impatiently next to the huge sheer glass window at the second floor of Jollibee*, situated in the most crowded part of the mall complex. She'd been glancing at her wristwatch for several times in an hour of waiting. She had already consumed the large cup of Coke and half of the french fries, but still no sign of her mother.

She intended to meet her mother in a public place, sensing and suspecting that her mother would jump all over her. And she's tired of that, she didn't want any of that anymore. As much as possible she wanted to avoid outbursts and physical contacts. And here was where she felt was safe enough.

One more minute and she would leave. Perhaps, she thought, her mother had realized she's losing the battle and gave in. As she was about to push herself from the table to get up, she noticed her youngest sister Simonette running happily toward her through the crisscrossing diners, her small arms spreading widely beside her, and her smile the widest one she'd ever seen.



Her sister Maureen brightened when she saw her running toward her through the aisle between two rows of occupied tables. She missed Maureen so much; she missed those times they had made cookies together or colored Tweety Bird in her coloring book together. She missed her sister's singing in the morning and in the bedroom, and she missed her giving her beautiful hairdos. And so she hugged Maureen tightly as she could, and her eldest sister hugged her back, too.

But Maureen's delight dimmed and flickered out after seeing their mother came. Her sister shoved her gently aside as she got up to face their mother. She could feel awkwardness between her sister and her mother, but she didn't know why, and didn't want to find out. Instead she slid herself into the long cushioned seat and asked Maureen if she could eat the french fries.

There was no hugging, too, which was odd. And no smiles. Her mother's face was empty of expression, while that of her sister's was careful and cautious. As she nibbled and licked the salts from the strips, her mother began talking of something about going back home.

After some exchange of words, of persuasion and reasoning, her sister's face became clouded and grim when she spoke again, "Why are you complaining at something you've done to me?"

Off-guarded and insulted by such disrespect, their mother's voice raised, "How dare you talk to me like that. This isn't now how I brought up."

Her sister's voice was heavy but controlled when she replied. "But this is how you're trying to control my own life! Why are you pushing me to do something I don't want?"

"This is what's good for you. I only wanted to make sure you are living a good life."

"I'm old enough to know what is good for me, Ma, please. I don't love him!" she paused to re-calculate what she was about to say. "It is you who like him, Ma, not me. Go and marry him," she continued. But her voice was so wounding that her mother erupted.

SLAP!

Silence.

Maureen froze, her teary eyes questioning and condemning their mother with hurt and hatred. Their mother retreated, trembling with guilt and sudden realization at what she had just wreaked.




She just sat there in stiff silence, staring at her mother then to her sister and back, sensing the dense, tensed air among them, observing the two wounded members of their family, and waiting what would happen next. Her mother for a moment ignored her presence, probably thinking that she was too young to understand, and too small to absorb and register everything into her young mind. Or, perhaps, she was just simply drowned by her own pain and fight for redemption that she failed to remember she was there, watching.

What her mother and sister didn't know was that she's already old enough to comprehend what's going on. And it wasn't pleasant. It wasn't good. Even the people from the surrounding tables seemed not to enjoy what they had seen. Silence fell like drapes, wrapping them from the world.

She didn't want to stay with them. She just wanted to enjoy being in the mall; after all, that was why she came here. She got out of her chair and ran toward the net-secured playground nearby to join the playing, happy children.

Along the way, she noticed a woman from one of the tables near the playground dropped a large piece of a chicken wing. But instead of picking it up, she kicked it inconspicuously into the inflatable fence of the playground and continued eating.

When she came she stood beside the woman and commented, "That is not right."

Confused and unsure if the girl beside her was talking to her, the woman looked around, raised her eyebrows and asked, "What?"

"My mama says you have to pick up everything that you've dropped and find a bin."

The woman's company giggled at such confrontation, which made the woman obviously embarrassed but defended herself by shrugging it off, "You're a good girl, honey. And you're right."

"But you're not doing it."

The other people in the table giggled even more.

It was during this time that she heard something in the distance that she suspected was coming from their table. She turned around to see her sister walked away.



"This ain't going anywhere," Maureen declared.

"Come back home," their mother begged.

"I'm not going back home," she said with finality, and concluded the heated conversation by getting up and walking away.

Her mother called after her sister. And it was this call that made her turned around to see her sister left. And soon after she went to play, the woman stooped to pick up her litter.



As they left for home, she recounted excitedly to her mother every details of her romping around the playground. But her mother wasn't responding. She was so distant. And so she ceased from talking. Sometimes, she couldn't understand how adults behave in their world.

She was standing at the end of the dirt road leading to the old wooden house twenty meters or so ahead. From where she was she could see the vines creeping up the facade and the side walls.

The french windows were badly weathered, some of the glass were broken if not smeared with dried dust and dark-green stains. Some of the wooden planks had been detached from the walls, eaten to rot by termites. Weeds and wildflowers fought each other on the lawn and around the house, occupying the once manicured gardens and invading the cobblestone driveway. And under the sweeping of the wind, they were swaying like waves of gold and brown and green and yellow.


The mango tree beside the house was still there, gloriously spreading its branches and swaying its foliage against the wind, as though welcoming her back. Dried leaves were scattered everywhere by wind and time; the bark of the trunk showed that it was aging fast. The hammock under it had long been gone, and the metal swing by the mini-playground on the other side of the house had succumbed to the wrath of corrosion.


From where she was standing, she could hear the house squeaked against the blow of the wind. And the roof was now dark red, its fragmenting edge curled up as the wind swept against it and smashed lightly back against the wooden truss. The house, from her vintage point, looked perfect for a serene and dramatic photograph or a masterpiece painting, one which would send a message that would reach out into the inner hearts of men.

But it was not just a painting. It was her childhood. A proud and standing memoir of her life as a child. It was just she who neglected it, it was just she who ignored the very witness of the life she had here. It was the very house whom she had shared many countless and immeasurable moments, moments that would never happen again in her lifetime, or in the afterlife.

She started to walk slowly toward the two-storey house, wading across the wildflowers and cogon grass. When she reached the door she unlocked and unchained it, slowly turned the rusty doorknob, carefully opened the door, and stepped inside.



It had been a very long time since the time she was leaving the house with her parents. It was thirty already years ago, but she could still clearly remember how she was flatly and nonchalantly accepting the reality that they would be abandoning it. She could still vividly remember how she was casually walking away without turning back, as if she had known for so long that it was written in her fate and should unfold. And she could still remember how it was so unimportant for her to cry for leaving the place behind. She did not understand why, then; she couldn't understand why, now. Perhaps, she suspected, she was still too young to understand everything, to feel what she should feel.

She felt sorry now that she did not think of it herself to go back here, that she'd had to wait for something to happen before finding within herself the longing to go back here. She didn't want to consume all the time she had now thinking about it, blaming herself and regretting things, and so she just shrugged it off for now.

After adjusting her eyes to the dimness inside, she looked around, darting her eyes from the living room to the hallway and back. Dust settled on the rotten upholstery, eating them slowly to rot. Cobwebs warned of the years she's gone, and reminded her of the past she'd let time buried it here. Fragments of glass littered on the floor with dust and debris and dead leaves.

She walked toward the hallway that led to the staircase. When she came near she noticed the faded Pentel Marker drawings and scribblings across one side of the hallway: her childhood art and the evidence of her passage to literacy. They were very faint now, but were still visible enough to know and read what they were, for they still stood out from being devoured by the rotting of the plywood.

My name is Pearl Anne Ramos. I am 8 years old. I have one brother and one sister.

Then, there was another one written below it. It was obviously written on a different date the than first. She knew because she could still remember herself writing it, and she could also remember how she had really felt. Although she couldn't remember how dense the anger and hate that had hung over her family, and how deep the loss and anguish her parents had felt, she could tell it was something that time had no power to subdue and erase because until just last week the broken and wounded relationship between her parents and her grandfather had not healed. And though she'd never looked inside to find it, it was something that had also lived in her for so long.

Silently with her eyes staring at the wall, she read:

My brother Jason died yesterday and my parents cry all night. I am very sad.

After a while, as she was standing there, her body began to soften as she remembered how she would hurriedly ran home from school to be with his brother and take care of him and play with him. It was so long ago, but she still missed her younger brother so badly.

She climbed up the stairs into the bedrooms. And as she walked toward her brother's bedroom, the memories of the sad past had slowly awaken in her mind, flowing in like water through a funnel, waking up emotions that had long been asleep. In her mind, the fateful, tragic day began to flicker and play...



It was a Summer. That Saturday morning her parents were preparing for the planned picnic on a beach resort, fifteen kilometers away from their house to the next town. Her mama and papa were very busy packing up things and putting them to the baggage trunk of their car, and were crisscrossing between the kitchen and the garage. She was also dressing up herself for the trip, and at the same time sneaking time to play with his younger brother. Her elder sister was upstairs busy doing something, too. She didn't knew where his grandfather was, and she didn't think of looking for him. When she went to call her mama and asked her to help her zip her dress, nobody was attending her brother Jason. And nobody noticed him walked out the front door and into the lawn.

She heard, and she swore her mama and papa heard, too, their car's engine came to life. She was excited to climb into the car, and so she ran hurriedly toward the living room from the kitchen, and past the open front door.

Her grandfather was on the wheel, maneuvering the car backward from the garage into the driveway when he heard a loud thud from behind, like a large piece of wood hitting the rear bumper or a metal striking the rubber of the wheel. He thought it was the latter, as he felt the car rolled over it after he checked the back with the side mirrors but saw nothing. When he come to a stop and checked the side mirrors again, he saw her standing a few steps from behind the car, screaming and shouting at him. Her grandfather felt a sudden rush of fear crawled up his spine, and when he stepped outside he saw a pair of shoes under the car. Wearing them was his grandson, Jason.

Her mama was on the living room, calling at her elder sister Maggie and telling her to come down for they were now about to leave. Her mother looked around but couldn't find her and Jason. When she called their names, her mother heard the shrieking of her horrified voice and her grandfather's heart-pounding, mournful cry.

Alert, her father dashed past her mother toward the front door. With fear and horror shot at her mother like a thousand volts of electricity, she ran hurriedly after him, the Tupperwares filled with food smashed to the tiled floor as she lost hold of them.

It was the most horrifying day of their lives, to see Jason lying on her grandfather's arms soaked in blood, lifeless. The ambulance came too late to save him, and the news of his death from the medics caused so much confusion, disbelief, anger, anguish and loss all at once.



Her brother's bed squeaked as she stood up. She walked toward the window that faced the asphalt road that ran parallel to the house. From there the dirt road snaked for several meters toward the house. Directly under the bedroom was the garage, its driveway met the dirt road near the front door. The wind that swept inside the room smelt of wildflowers and dust and rotten wood. After closing the windows, she went out of the room, down the stairs, into the living room, and out of the house.

She was standing under the mango tree when she heard a car rolled to a stop next to hers. She turned her head to see who it was. A woman in her late thirties stepped out of the car, looked around and saw her. At first she couldn't recognize the woman, she couldn't tell who she was who's now smiling and waving at her. When they were both halfway to meet each other, she realized it was her childhood friend, Carmen. It was her best friend thirty years ago. And she was Carmen's long lost friend. She ran toward her to hug her and tell her how happy she was to see her for the first time in years.

When excitement and joy sank in, they sat on the mango tree's protruding roots and talked about so many things in between the last time they had seen each other and now. They exchanged life stories, and talked of the changes and the new things that had come to their lives. They talked about their past, their present, and their own families.

When silence wrapped around them, her friend turned her head toward the low, bare mountains that rose breathtakingly four kilometers away from behind the house. The mountains were light green not because of trees but because of weeds and cogon grass. No single tree dotted any of the mountains, and under the mid-afternoon sun they stood elegantly and beautifully against the bushy landscape.

"I still remember how you'd always wanted to go there," Carmen said, her eyes staring at the scenic view.

She smiled. She felt very happy to know how much Carmen had remembered about her and their childhood. After a while, she asked, "You've already been there?"

"Many times."

"I still want to go there."

"Let's go there now."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"No. Not at all."

"This is exhilarating," she beamed.

Carmen smiled.

"But I have one favor to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Let's drop by at my grandfather's grave."

"Sure."

They walked to their cars and drove off toward the cemetery. Along the way, the mountains came clearer and bigger, and so was the amount of peace she'd never felt before in her life. She might never knew it, but she was already on the road to reconciliation with her past and redemption of herself from hating her grandfather. He died a week ago right before her eyes, just an hour after they'd talk inside the Silver Halo Shelter. But she knew he died a happy man, for they had already forgiven each other before it was all too late.






Photograph by Jacob Krejci. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr site. Thanks!

"Julia, is Leandro here?" Donald asked when he saw her as he arrived at his friend's house two days after the incident. He decided to let the tension to subside before talking to Leandro, but he also realized it would be too late for the three of them to wait that long.

"No, he's not here," Julia said and walked away from her two cousins and toward him. In a hushed voice, she asked, "What's going on? He seems not with himself today."

Donald chose not to talk about it with her. Rather he said, "Nothing. I need to go. I need to find him."



For whatever reasons he didn't find Leandro at the park; instead, he found him below it. He was sitting on a boulder less than a meter away from the base of the shallow ridge, his feet submerged in the seawater. It was where they used to pick sea shells when they were younger. And it was where he was saved by Leandro from drowning.

"Lean," he said, uncertain how not to disturb him.

"I need to be alone," Leandro said without turning.

"Lean, you're not like this. This is not you," Donald said, "Please, let's talk it over."

Silence.

"I don't understand," Leandro began. "I have never felt like this before in my life. This is my very first time to feel what it is like to fall in love. But it's being snatched away from me."

"I didn't---"

"You snatched it away from me," Leandro said in a pressing tone, and then turned around and looked at him. "Why?"

"Could you please stop it?" Donald slightly raised his voice, exasperated. "I don't love her, OK? I'm not taking her away from you."

Leandro looked away.

Silence.

"I can't believe that after all these years you still don't trust me," Donald sounded hurt and resentful.

"Just leave me alone."

"Look, I can't live like this."

"DON."

Silence.

"OK," Donald gave in, sighed, and walked away. After a few steps, he turned around and said, "Remma is leaving today for Canada. In an hour. I thought you should know."



When he saw in the distance the SUV pulling from the Olandria's garage, panicked crept all over him and triggered him to ran after it. He was only a few meters away when the SUV rolled into the street that leads toward the highway. He ran even faster with Donald trailing behind him.

"REMMA! REMMA!" Leandro cried as he ran after the vehicle. "REMMA, WAIT! WAIT!"

The SUV kept running as though oblivious to his cry and presence. He nearly outrun it; he was running almost alongside it and slapped its hind side over and over as he went yelling, "REMMA, STOP THE CAR! STOP THE CAR! DON'T JUST LEAVE US LIKE THIS, REMMA! REMMA! STOP THE CAR!"

The SUV suddenly pulled over and Remma's father got out from the passenger seat and then faced him.

"Please, just leave her alone," her father said in controlled anger. "She's breaking apart, and she needs time to heal. Not this one. Not this."

Leandro was begging, but Remma's father was all stone to him. He climbed back to the SUV, drove off, accelerated, turned around the bend, and was gone. Leandro was left there standing, heartbroken, and devastated.

After a long while he turned around and stormed past Donald without looking back.



June 1. Leandro was standing under the waiting shed a few blocks from behind their house, right along the main road that leads toward the town. He was waiting for the bus that would take him to the city. Today was his schedule to go to Tagbilaran and take a flight for Manila. Though the wounds was so fresh and his heart was still broken, he had no choice but to leave this place emotionally shattered.

He was standing there with his bags beside him on the dirt road when Donald came. They were standing side by side without saying a word for several minutes. None of them had the courage to talk nor the strength to listen. They were just there feeling each other and watching people passed by. A deafening, eerie silence wrapped around them.

After a long while, Donald spoke. "I hate to see us part this way."

No response.

"We don't even have the chance to talk about it."

Silence.

"Lean, talk to me, for Christ's sake. This isn't easy for me to see you go like this. Please say something. This is killing me."

Leandro grunted, and then faced him. "What do you want me to say?"

Donald closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Jesus, Lean! Stop acting like that. If you think this is my fault, I'm sorry. I told you I don't love her! I ---" he stopped himself. He couldn't do it. He couldn't say it. Because at that moment he couldn't understand why he was about to say it, or if he meant it at all, or if it was what his heart had wanted him to say all this time. He stopped to question himself. He stopped because he realized that the emotions within him was trying to surrender him and spit him out with all its might.

"What else do you want me to do?" Donald went on.

"Bring her back."

"This isn't going anywhere," Donald said while shaking his head. In the distance, the bus appeared and rolled fast toward them.

"You're right," Leandro. "This is not going anywhere."

"Lean, please," Donald said. "Think it over. This is shattering us, please listen to me."

Leandro said nothing as he waited for the bus to come to a stop.

"Come back home once in a while, OK?" Donald said. "Promise me."

Leandro reluctantly nodded.

"I'm gonna miss you, man," he was about to hug him but Leandro bent to pick up his bags and walked into the waiting bus.

Donald was left behind, staring at the leaving bus. It was the last time the two of them see each other.




The photograph used in this entry is from Arun Kumar Sinha's Flickr page. To view the owner's webpage, please click here. Thanks!