Cold Collage

A day before All Saints Day my thoughts while inside the Victory Liner bound for Dagupan were drawn with mixed emotions.  The ugly traces of the past typhoons that devastated the country had unfolded before my eyes as we passed along the expressway.

Looking far ahead I could no longer see the once thick green trees that lined up the Camdaba Swamp.  The flood water had immersed most of the greenery; the large trees were reduced to their skimpy and skeletal appearance and would stay that way, I believe as another typhoon was lurking above the sky.

The newscaster’s voice over the TV above the head of the driver reverberated with an update about the typhoon.

‘Santi would soon hit the country with strong winds and rains. Signal number 3 is raised in…including Manila.  Travelers are advised not to go to the cemetery during All Saints Day as it would be difficult to rescue people…’

The bus seemed to navigate the expressway at a very low pace living up to the expectation that more than a hundred thousand vehicles pass it especially the day following All Saints Day.

My thoughts of being stranded in this vast, flooded part of the expressway had slowly crept in knowing that only several weeks ago, stories of sad experiences, survival and death had exploded in the news and TV screens.

Being locked inside this fully packed air conditioned bus had left me with no other options but to wait and stay calm in the comfort of my seat.

But doing so yet anxiously watching the scenery scrolled like dreams, and the mind engrossed with the dreary images of death, the dead and the dying was impossible thing to do.

Then I could see myself hugging my only brother, Rey, as I alighted from the bus; shaking hands with my cousin, Ronald; kissing the warm hands of my mother, and my grandmother’s fingers touching my forehead. The images I wish were real, but I was still several hours more before All Saints Day when I could feel the dab of cold air caressing my skin.

 

Midnight Silence

Prologue

If he only knew how a hurting woman was feeling,
he could have just hugged her so tightly.
To feel her heart beating so fast against his chest,
to smell her breath
until their lips were locked together and feel the love between them.

He sensed something wasn’t right.
All the joys and the twinkles in the woman’s eyes were like windows on a rainy day. 
He knew there was oddness in her that night
Perhaps it was the thought of her going away and leaving him behind so abruptly.

When everything seemed to be going well,
a word of goodbye was the hardest thing for her to say.

He wouldn’t need no explanation about why or how
because just to see her for the last time with both their eyes so close together
was worth a hundred times than the scene of leaving.

The night was cold,
the room was empty
and the music had stopped playing,
and the tears had fallen
endlessly.

How was it to explain the strange feeling when someone had made your life significant?

He knew how this woman had agonized over failed relationship;
of a betrayal that drained her innermost being.
And behind those lovely smiles was a hurting of a soul of a woman,
needing to be loved again

---

The Night Before  

He woke up with a throbbing pain in his head.  The sun wasn’t yet up and there was no reason either to get back to bed since he was awake all night.  He had his share of agony. The pain of being left behind was unbearable.   Throughout the night, alone in the cold room, he was crying like a baby.

He hadn’t cried for a long time, he thought. But the tears that fall had meant only one thing, he fell in love again engulfing him like a wildfire.

---

Abandoned

Whenever her mother travelled to Acoje he was left in the care of his grandmother.  He was very young then, about the age of five and the feeling of being left with another person was a little like abandonment of care and love. He cried incessantly.  And jostled by his grandmother with a threat that he wouldn’t have something for breakfast, he stopped crying.

He had waited the entire day, sat on a wooden rocking chair and his chin rested on the window sill. He was tireless looking outside the window of passing vehicles coming from the west and his only rest was to eat a skimpy meal, and back to his sit again.

The quiet and lazy afternoon had made him dozed off. His head was rested against his arm while the sun’s golden rays striking his tender face.  He awoke, jumped off from his chair and came rushing down the stairs to meet his mother.  He was shouting, mama, mama, and he was crying now, a cry of joy that his mother had finally come back.

But there was not a shadow of his mother and no vehicle pulling by at the side of road.  He was dreaming, a dream that intensified his annoyance to the point of anger, perhaps not towards his mother but an overwhelming feeling he couldn’t explained.

He took the last sip of his beer. He wanted to dodge his childhood memories as quickly as possible but it was like a nightmare, and the nightmare was that a woman she dearly had abandoned him.

 

Breezy Baguio

'

Ramil is coming!

Don’t know him di ba? It’s another super storm about to hit Northern Luzon. As you can see the sky is becoming dark, and the sun seems too shy to peep behind thick nimbus clouds. 

Hindi pa nga nakakahinga dahil kay Pepeng at Ondoy, heto na naman si Ramil.

The wind is too breezy and cool, a prelude to the coming Christmas season. Now if you’re thinking of coming back to the Philippines spend your Christmas in Baguio and feel as if you never left States and Europe, because it also freezes here, not as chilly though but manageable at 7 degrees, sometimes.

'

Meanwhile, two karubas are having a festive moment. Uhm, wanna share some secrets. Secret nga eh!

Anyway, ayaw ko makialam kung ano secret nila basta ako, nanginginig mag-shot sa kanila at sa paligid ko.  (Kakainis nga eh, mailap pa sa tupa itong si Mareng Susan, camera shy talaga. Sorry friends, gusto ata ni Susan personal nyo siyang makita.)

'

Anyway what a way to beat the cool air of Baguio than have cups of tea and coffee while waiting for lunch at 2:00 pm. (Two PM! I hear a growling stomach, friends!).

As usual the always taciturn Susan is fidgeting on her CP, hidden behind a plastic cup of tea, shy to look at the camera.

Kasi ba naman gwardiya ang kumukuha, eh kung ako ba naman sana kumuha baka tumingin pa hahahaha.

Anyway, ‘I don’t care, just smile lang ako. Sige shot mo kami!’ Bren thought.
‘Correct ka diyan sister.’

'

That’s it friends. We’ll leave you with a view of the SM Park below SM’s veranda overlooking Baguio’s athletic oval.

See you soon.

 

Rendezvous

“The best years of your life are the ones in which you decide your problems are your own. You do not blame them on your mother, the ecology, or the president. You realize that you control your own destiny.”  Albert Ellis quotes (American Psychologist and Writer, b.1913)

During my younger life in Acoje eating camote for my snacks or had it as substitute for a full meal was always inevitable.  The word hamburger then wasn’t even born yet. But the word camote was on top of my list and making way up the kitchen table. 

I like camote better when roasted than cooked in boiling water. I often see myself like a squirming infant being fed with a bottle of Gerber. Every time I was served with an overcooked camote it was like eating a bland and crashed potato.

With my fondness of camote I developed a unique way of roasting it, covering with the hot soot of cooking wood and piled it up with pieces of firewood to regulate the roasting and not over burn the surface.  As a boy scout I thrived with this technique and found it useful during camping out at the side of the tennis court or out of town to Porac and Bucao in Botolan, Zambales.    

I like the crunchy layer of roasted camote after roasting it but eating it hot was the terrifying thing to do, that’s the lesson I never forget.

I learned that the English word  of camote was sweet potato when, one time I was confused of eating camote with the real potato. Potato, abundant as the camote in Acoje, was tasteless but camote was sweeter.  My math was bad but I was extremely good at mixing things up, even mixing the obvious meaning of things until I learned finally that the real English name of camote was really sweet potato, to my utter shame.

‘Camote yo, camot eyo, camotteyo.’

The yelling of these words by the old native women at the break of dawn in front of our bunkhouse had at times irritated me. 

‘Anya mannen. Makaturturog ak pay.’

And no matter how I covered my ears with hard pillows, the atmosphere below would start to become like a mini plea market. Soon after the chuckles and the bargaining would ensue while the guttural sounds of refusal to deny the stingy plea were like rebuttal inside a courtroom.

No matter how camote was shouted it was the same camote that I learned to like and love, because without it, I wouldn’t have travelled this part of the world in search for the real camote.

These snapshot of sounds and images were the things I missed and such a rendezvous in a unique atmosphere would rarely comes in a lifetime.

 

The Deadly Detour

'

‘There were friendly detours in Acoje, but this was one was the deadliest.’

For as long as she’s alive the words of her elder sister would linger in her mind forever, “Don’t ever travel late at night.”  But she was stubborn as ever, perhaps she was just too complacent, or just like that, a hard-headed grown-up sister.

Because had she listened with her sister’s sound advice she wouldn’t have experienced her life’s terrifying moment, one fateful night at the deadly detour.

At that gruesome hour past midnight she thought she would die. Perhaps she would be seen the next day in cold blood at the side of the road or her lifeless body floating with multiple stab wounds at the river under the bridge.

No one was there to cry out for help. And her mind was frantically racing with the thought of her six children not being able to see her anymore alive.

The van stopped in a detour near the bridge. She could see from the van’s front mirror a tricycle that stopped in the middle of the detour and appeared to be blocking the way. The tricycle driver got out and walked towards the van, while the other man who’s seated inside the tricycle appeared to be polishing something. She could glimpse the sharp edge of a metal object beaming in the dark.

‘They’re going to kill me, these people are out to kill me,’ her mind in panic but keeping her fear from the two men inside the van.

From the unsuspecting faces of the two men inside the van that she saw earlier had now transformed into faces of harsh criminals.  Their faces wore no concern and their eyes reddened as if the effects of potent drugs had engulfed their beings.  All these guys had connived with the tricycle driver with only one purpose in mind that night to rob her and even kill her. 

Though her body was shaking, she had begged them, ‘Please, please I have six children. If you want money I could give you. Please don’t kill me.’  

She pulled out her purse from her bag and handed them in desperation to the woman inside the van.  The woman she thought was a fellow passenger was an accomplished.  And her face too had carried the same cruelty and grit as the two men.

Again she repeated her plea, ‘Please don’t do this to me. I have nothing against you. I just wanted to go home and see my children.’

The men and the woman inside the van didn’t say a word but she could sense the air of evil about to unleash.

Then noticing a car that was passing by, she hurriedly opened the van‘s sliding door and ran to meet the car.  At the side of road she shouted for help but the car skidded away.  The tricycle driver now moved towards her while an approaching car was making its way through the detour. 

Again she shouted for help while running towards the grassland at the side of the road.  The car hesitated to stop then drove past her.  She made her way through thick and damp grass, groping for something to hold, stumbling to the wet grassland, pulling her way up to safety from the hands of these criminals.

She had scurried more distance than she could ever imagined.  Then she reached a ‘nipa’ hut but it was dark inside it.  Wet clothes were hanging over a long clothesline in front of the hut and she thought it could cover her form the eyes of pursuing men.  She crawled her way under the ‘nipa’ hut, gasping for breath, her eyes peering for images of men through the darkness.  She waited, and time seemed consumed the night forever.  She stayed there and prayed these will men will go away.

Then she heard the rumble of tires now passing a distant away from where she had ducked for safety.  She had been there more than an hour perhaps, and still frightened. But she had to move now and slowly she crawled her way out from under the ‘nipa’ hut and walked cautiously towards the road.  She looked sideways. The van that she rode was no where in sight now and the tricycle was gone either.  She waved her hand to an approaching bus, her heart was pounding fast.

Luckily the bus stopped. 

Passing through this part of the road several times since that terrifying night had always given her a bout of terror and anxiety. But she had survived it with the detour as the only witness of her escape from terror.

 

Hot flashes

'

                                           What makes the engine go? Desire, desire, desire. 
                                               Stanley Kunitz, O Magazine, September 2003

 

The balmy wind of the early days of summer that blew from the lake below my house irritated my skin and threw my good mood away.

I had been sweating all over from forehead, down to my armpit and who knew, where else. My face towel had been soaked with my salty sweat and I had to squeeze every now and then to reuse it wipe my body. I’d heard a lot about this strange feeling I was having lately from TVs and read them several times in the Internet and I asked myself, could this be it, hope not? 

I had to fill the large aluminum basin inside the bathroom with cold water then get to boil the oversized kettle with water to have a tepid bath shortly. While waiting, I glanced outside the window of the kitchen and across the lake I could see the sweltering heat cut through the trees.

I was sweating profusely like faucet now and my mind raced of stripping off. Nobody was in the house anyway, except my self. So without hesitation I took my blouse off leaving my bra that was damp with sweat too. My heart was pounding, tense, a feeling I couldn’t comprehend perhaps due to the premature heat the city had for the day. I craved for a gust of wind, but none came.

I rubbed the palm of my right hand in circular motion around my velvety breast as if scraping a spilled olive oil. It felt nice. Then, I rubbed below my breast towards my navel – softly, in circular motion, feeling my hand against my wet stomach. I never felt this way before, quite satisfying. I wasn’t only sweating now but profusely wet as if I had been drenched by heavy rain.

I grabbed a glass, opened the faucet and let it poured water onto it. (Too bad the fridge was out of order and what a hell life had been without a fridge to cool my burning body off!) I took away my short-short too – leaving a black G-string tacked like a piece of torn bandage.

Then the kettle wailed.

She turned around towards the stove and turned it off. I knew what came next but it was summer and, I, too was burning hot. I turned around too, allowing the folded sheet of the curtain swayed to its usual position then I dashed downstairs to drink a glass of cool water.

 

Bewitched!

'

“Charm is a way of getting the answer yes without asking a clear question.”   
Albert Camus

“It’s one of those infatuations when we were younger,’ Rodel said rather shyly.  As we traversed the winding road on our way to Loakan, and the rain of Ondoy’s might kept on pounding the roof of the taxi we were riding, we couldn’t keep smiling and laughing as the memories kept pouring like rain.

‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘ I even named my eldest daughter after Ruby, Maria Ruby actually.’

‘Really’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Coincidence, Ruby just had her birthday last month.‘ I said.

‘Yes, August 9.‘

Just how sharp was Rodel’s memory that even one of our boy classmate’s birthday didn’t slip from his mind when I mentioned about him. ‘September 14, is his birthday.’ he remarked.

The first time I met Rodel was in Grade 5. I was coming in to a new environment and bewildered with new faces of schoolmates Rodel was the first boy who approached me.  Without an intricate introduction of who he was, holding a tennis ball, he immediately offered me to play ball, our basket – the gap on the roof of the school building along the corridor.

Then right after school that day, out of curiosity I went with Rodel to the turtle-roofed Library below the Acoje playground and for the first time again, I learned to think deeply because he introduced me to the game of chess.

Letting that flash of memory passed momentarily, I asked Rodel a clarificatory question.

‘So you remember this girl then.’

‘Of course, of course, the shy girl who rarely utters a word.’

‘She’s slim as far as I can recall.’

‘Yes, one of loveliest faces I’ve seen when we were younger.’

I kept my smile hidden, my vision through the glass window was smeared by the hazy images of swaying pine trees, as my mind thought deeper like the game of chess I had for the first time because young as we were then, compatibility of thinking bewitched us in appreciation of what is beautiful.

 

Makeshift Memories

'

“Focus on the journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity but in doing it.” Greg Anderson

How is it to find long lost friends? With the uncertainties that loom ahead, I was drawn into it as if I was solving a jigsaw puzzle, where the pieces become insurmountable effort to connect. 

But that’s where the challenges lie. As what the saying goes, it’s the journey that matters.

So I rode on a tricycle and took off one Sunday morning taking shots with my X1 while we cruised at 50kph towards my hometown in Labrador. 

With Nonong commanding the wheel, I was seated behind him and delighting in a decent 330 degree panoramic view of the sceneries that we passed by.

'

Holding the camera with my left hand only exposing the camera’s lens and clicking the shutter release with my right index finger, my back pressed against the steel frame of the tricycle, I took several shots.

'

But I missed two goats posing under a waiting shed and appeared to be enjoying the throng of passersby.

'

The sweltering rays of the sun had tanned my face and arms but it didn’t matter, I knew it will soon fade away – only focusing on my mission for the day, to find Rolly Austria.

The cool wind inside the cogon makeshift blowing from the nearby river had made Rolly slept like a five year old baby even when the sun had reached its peak directly above us. When he finally woke up by the yelling of his father, I was face to face with him.

‘I know this guy,’ he said ‘…Edwin.’

‘Rolly kumusta? Sorry ha I disturbed your sleep,’

'

Like most of our classmates he had to grope for his eyeglasses to see the photo shots of our reunion taken in Fairview and Iba, Zambales.

‘Iba na rin paningin ko,’ he said.

One by one I mentioned their names starting with Bong, Kris, his cousin Merla, Boyet, Daw, Inyong, Orang, his buddy Tito, Ping, myself, Dalin and Beth.

‘Nag-iba na rin mga mukha nila, lalo atang bumata,’ he said jokingly.

‘Wait, I’ll show you more,’ I said. ‘That’s Merlie, taken at Sta Cruz and that’s Danny and Charlie.’

‘Is this pareng Dondie now?’

With the laughters filling the air we remained seated side by side with each other under the roof of the makeshift, reminiscing life in Acoje, our main topic – high school life.

Then coming back clearly to my mind like a scene from the movie, I was Rolly’s sidekick watching a distant from where he stood as he spoke intimately with her high school sweetheart, Erlinda, the slim and attractive young girl of junior high school. Falling in love during high school was like munching a Cadbury – but I never had one until years after.

'

‘Just give my regards to everyone ha,’ he said as Nonong started the tricycle’s engine once again, then as we slowly pulled away towards the town of Labrador, I received a text message from him, ‘What’s the name of the website again that you mentioned?’

Smilingly I typed in the URL and sent it. I knew he would soon hit the keyboard with the help of his three kids.

 

Restless in Zambales

'

The time to be happy is now. The place to be happy is here. The way to be happy is to make others so.   Unknown, Source

 

August 22, 2009
Iba, Zambales
10:00 A.M.

Danny Morales was surprised upon seeing us.  Face to face with two strangers, one looking like an oriental businessman and the other, who looked like he had just gotten out from Africa, Danny appeared perplexed, his mouth wide open, his right index finger pointing in circles as he groped for words of the names he couldn’t say.

Then he mentioned, ‘Charlie, pare!’

Then he looked at me still confused, he couldn’t smile to a total stranger.  I knew what he was thinking perhaps, I was there to offer a bunch of Chinese medicine from Taiwan.

Then I removed my sunglasses. Finally, the wide grin began to show, his trademark still that visible.

‘Edwin…’, he uttered a word at last.

 10:15 A.M.

The August morning in Iba, Zambales was scorching but I love it since back home I never sweat like a linking faucet. Danny was bare in his upper body and wearing a short pant when he met us. His hair was short like a military official.  With a vigorous handshake and a pat on the shoulder, we were like teenagers again as he ushered us inside his home.

We talked in Pangasinan dialect, Charlie listened intently while the loud voice of the NBA host simmered over the TV beside him.

‘Kumusta la?’

‘Unya ni, pinasyal mi ka. Kumusta ka?’

‘Pigaran taon, thirty years no’ Pare?’ looking at Charlie.

‘Oo tagal na. Madalas nga ako dito sa Iba, ni hindi ako makadaan-daan. Dito ka lang pala.’ Charlie said.

‘Panun yun apugta ya ey.’

‘Nagdaan kami sa office mo. May kasama ka dun, sabi kaalis mo lang. Kaya sinamahan kami maghanap tricycle na kilala ka at hinatid kami dito ng drayber.’

‘Ito na siguro sabi ko kay Pareng Edwin eh.  Ang laki pangalan niya na-post ‘SPO2 Danilo Morales. Siya ito!’

‘Ha ha ha. Grabe, ang tagal na rin talaga.’

 

'

10:45 A.M.

‘Charlie, please take a photo of us.’

‘Are you ok with that or put on a shirt first’

Danny dashed to the room and put on a sleeveless tee-shirt.  When he came back, my Xperia was ready.

Charlie couldn’t seem to take a good shot of me and Danny.  The first one was blurry; the second one was off tangent.

‘I think I have to take first a shot of you two,’ I said.

Click. 

‘You know Charlie you’re contagious. I got a blurry shot as well.’ 

Laughed.

 11:10 A.M.

‘What do you think, Charlie? Shall we go? I still have a long way back to Baguio.’

‘No no, si Virgie namalengke eh.  Dito na kayo lunch.’ Danny insisted.

‘You know the high school days ha. Terible!  You remember you two called me out one night in the middle of a heavy rain. I had no slightest idea where we were going. Yun pala may mission sa staff house ni Dr. Marte, yung kumpol na hinog na saging sa tabing daan.  Ha ha ha.’  <<read more about this adventure>>

Laughed in chorus.

‘Oo nga, nakapalumpol pa ng sakong malaki. Ha ha ha.’

‘Inubos nyo nga ata yun. Walang kamalay-malay si Dr. Marte ubos na pala saging niya ha ha ha.’

Laughed in chorus again.

While the laughed reverberated, I rang someone from my cellphone. And when she answered I muttered quickly, ‘Hey Merla, someone would like to speak to you.’

I handed my cellphone to Danny and he talked with Merla Austria for several minutes while Virgie hovered to get something in the room next to the sala.

11:30 A.M.

Virgie appeared from the kitchen and signaled us to have lunch.

Virgie’s hair was short as well. I think the couple had an excellent partnership and tended very well to their grownup children and four other grand children, because I never noticed any heavy lines of wrinkles in their forehead. They appeared to be happy.

‘Marami ring problema ha di mo lang alam,’ Danny exclaimed, ‘Ito nga wala akong cellphone. Ayaw ko naman maistorbo ng opisina although 24 hours naman work namin.’

I knew they were other reasons behind not having a cellphone but I didn’t pursue that argument.

Finally we were in front of the dining table.  Fresh shrimps and large roasted fish were served. I ate well since I love shrimps.

11:45 A.M.

After the quick sumptuous lunch we were back in the sala.  Virgie joined us.

‘I didn’t know him, he wasn’t familiar.’ Virgie said about me.

‘I was the low profile guy back then.’ I said.

‘How come,’ Danny said, ‘ pula ang buhok niya noon.’

‘At patpatin pa ako noon.’

‘Buti naman napasyal kayo?’

‘Nagpunta nga sila sa meeting sa Sta. Cruz tungkol sa reunion sa Acoje.’ Danny said.

‘Marami na ngang nagpupunta ditto talking about reunion hindi naman matuloy-tuloy. And who you were talking to over the phone a while back, reunion uli!’

‘Si Merla yun, classmate namin.’

I interrupted.

‘I talked with Merlinda Razo and we discussed our own reunion again.  Since Danny couldn’t come and Charlie as well, we can hold it here.’

'

‘Yes, you can go to the white beach but there are other places too,’ Virgie said, ‘when will that be?’

‘If not on Sta Cruz’s fiesta perhaps October or November,’ I said.

‘November 21 and 22, we are both free.’

‘Excellent,’ I said.

11:55 A.M.

Danny’s brother Alex appeared and Danny’s youngest son.

‘Pareng Charlie, yan ang inaanak mo. Magmano ka naman sa Ninong mo.’

‘Ang laki naman niya, mas malaki pa sayo.’

‘Sino pa ba mga ninong niyan?’

‘Ang dami, si Marlon, Rolly, Mareng Merlie at iba pa.’

‘Kumusta ka naman Alex.’ I said.

‘Ito miss ko na rin Acoje. Diyan lang ako nakatira. Iwan ko muna kayo at may pupuntahan pa ako.’

Alex left.

‘Pag wala dito Pare Danny mo Charlie nakay Rodel yan at nagsi-sing along. Kasama rin kami sa choir ng PREX.’

‘Talaga ha, blessing yan.’

 

12:05 Noon

We finally said goodbye and at the front of Danny’s house we had last minute photo shot of the three of us while Virgie skirted back inside the house.

‘Really appreciate your coming over.’ Danny said his eyes gleamed and smiled so widely and I knew even his heart was full of joy.

And as we took off inside a tricycle, Charlie beside me, the heat of the August sun was like a shower of rain fall. Danny’s face had lingered well for long inside my mind.

I had the most satisfying trip since I had been in Iba the last time as a folk dancer with several young and energetic high school students. Danny was one of them, cracking jokes every now and then inside the mini-bus back to Lucapon and listening to his natural flair for uncanny jokes, I laughed unnoticed in my own seat.

 

'

August 21, 2009
Lucapon, Sta. Cruz, Zambales
The night before

It was about 8:00 in the evening when we hit Lucapon. Emong Ebanculla, the Barangay Captain of Lucapon invited me over to his place after we met in Sta. Cruz.

The tiny van that we rode on pulled to the side of the road.

There were two men at the side of the road when Emong exclaimed to the other man.

‘Do you know him, Charlie?’

I could see Charlie’s face skewed even in the dark night which complemented his dark complexion.

He nodded negatively in Zambal.

Then Emong flickered his lighter near my face.

Hesitantly, then Charlie recognized me.

‘Si Edwin to ah!’

‘Charlie, long time no see.’

‘Sunod ka sa bahay, tuloy ko muna siya don.’ Emong said.

‘Sige sunod ako.’

 It was unusually warm night in Lucapon. After a brief rest Emong toured me in his unfinished two-storey house. He said it was worth close to 3 million then we moved to the adjacent barangay hall. Still unfinished, the hall where they hold their session was air-conditioned.  He turned the aircon on as well as the one inside his office.  Both were working then he turned it off, and few minutes later we were back inside his home.

We had dinner, a fried fish and vegetables.  Emong’s wife I believed was an excellent cook. I thanked her for the good dinner I had.  She smiled.

Shortly, Charlie came with his cousin.  Emong brought out a small bottle of Fundador and two slices of fried fish.

‘C’mon Charlie open it.’ Emong said.

Charlie just couldn’t open the bottle.

‘I never drink that much too.’

‘Nag-iinum ba tayo noong high school?’ I asked Charlie.

‘Uy hindi a, kain madami,’ he laughed, his eyes nearly closed.

‘So naalala mo mga manok na nawawala na lang basta.  Si Kris even mentioned that to me back in Manila when we met ha ha ha.’

‘Ah oo, meron nga kami dinali Dahil kaliwete ako, kinaliwa ko kasi hindi abot ni Marlon sa kanan eh ha ha ha. Hindi na pumiyok ang manok ha ha ha.’

Charlie finally opened the bottle after laboring with it for half an hour, figuring out how to remove the seal. Emong noticed it and remarked in Zambal which I didn’t understand.

Charlie poured an inch of the spirit to two glasses.

‘I think I couldn’t drink tonight,’ I pleaded, ‘It’s really been sleepless nights for me since a week ago in Baguio and last night in Manila. Take the shot for me Charlie.’

Charlie was hesitant, grabbed the other glass and sipped from it. 

‘Please take the other glass as well,’ I insisted.

Charlie’s face went sour as he sipped the other glass from it.

 

'

10:00 P.M.

I took a cold shower.  Too bad I didn’t bring extra pant and towel. I had spare underwear though.  After the refreshing shower that I begged to have since arriving in this dry and warm town, I wiped my wet body with my hanky then put back my shirt back and black denim pants on.

I rejoined Charlie in the veranda with Emong. The bottle of brandy was not moved an inch from where it stood a while back.

‘C’mon Charlie have one of it.’ I said.

His face uneasy and I understood it.

‘How far away is Iba?’ I said.

‘About two or three hours.’

‘I think it’s less .’ Emong said.

‘We’ve got to see Danny tomorrow. Would you like to come?’ I said, but I answered my own question.’

‘You come tomorrow Charlie. We’ll leave at 8:00 in the morning.’ 

11:00 P.M.

‘You sleep here with my son, Julius’ Emong said.

‘Nakakahiya naman. Okay ako sa sala.’

‘Malamok dun at mainit.’

Before Emong left the room he turned on the air-condition.

I laid my aching back to the soft bed and stretched my body.  Did I fell asleep, I didn’t know. It had been that way, sleeping like a dog, waking up in the slightest flinch of the night.  I dreamed about a woman that ran into the night, then a young girl and her mother, embracing as I looked at them, them embraced them as well - all interlacing like a medley of my favorite songs.  Then as the dream faded, I felt I was in a strange place surrounded by buildings in an empty street.  I had the urge to enter one of the buildings, running towards the door and I entered it then I felt the earth shoke. Frightened I opened my eyes and I still felt my heart beating so fast.

 

'

August 21, 2009
Makati, Metro Manila
12:00 MN

I rose from bed earlier than my Ericsson cellphone did.  I hesitated a minute whether to change my clothes on.  On a second thought I knew the trip to Zambales will not take another opportunity such as this.  

Two hours ago my cellphone beeped and it said, ‘R u coming with us tomorrow brod?’

‘Dnt know yet, bt Il txt you. U knw am reli tired and not much slep yet.’ I replied.

‘Ok, ingt you diyan. Bye’

‘Bye c u soon.’

I doubled checked my stuff to see nothing was left in the hotel room.   I only had a pair of underwear because I knew I could go back to Baguio right after my appointment.  But here I was and ready to take a long trip that I had longed for several years.

When I got out from my room the meal menu that I hung on the door’s knob was still there. It wasn’t picked up by the housekeeping night shift staff.

Slowly, I closed the door behind me and proceeded to the lift and down to the hotel lobby.  I posted a couple of comments at Tambayan at one of the PC stations at the back of the lobby while waiting for my packed meal.  A Caucasian man was at the other desktop laboring on a sheet of paper, from time to time glancing at me as if I was cheating on him.  While I wondered why the heck he was still awake, I realized it was day out in west.

Half an hour later my meal arrived then I drove off in taxi to Cubao to catch the 1:30 A.M. bus to Alaminos. 

1:00 AM

I fall in line on a queue that was starting get long like a line of refugees so I could get a seat as a chance passenger on a Victory Liner air-con bus which was bound to Baguio, otherwise I would have waited 3:00 A.M.  for the next trip.

My stomach began to grumble with the smell of my packed meal.  I sat beside a bespectacled woman who had a seat reservation and immediately covered her nose. It wasn’t an awful smell I guess, so I hid my meal wrapped in a plastic underneath my black leather bag.

 

August 22, 2009
Tarlac City, Tarlac
6:00 A.M.

When I alighted I had a chance to briefly say a word or two with the woman.

‘You must be going to Baguio,’ I said.

‘Yes, just going with them over the weekend.’

‘Yes, long weekend. Have you been there before?’

‘It’s my first time.’

‘You appeared to be dizzy.  It must be the food that I tugged along,’ I said smiling.

‘No, I’m sorry. That’s not the reason. I’m just sleepy so I covered my face with a towel.’

‘Okay, so I’ve got to go and hail another bus to Zambales,’ I said.

‘And by the way, here’s something for you to read on, from us Jehovah.’

‘Thank you. My boss is a Jehova’s Witness too. Bye.’

 

August 22, 2009
6:30 A.M.

Even with the fresh air blowing inside the ordinary Victory Liner bus, I took my jumper off.  Immediately I felt the warm air emitting from the bus’s engine as a beads of sweat flowed down my cheek and sides of my head.

I sat in the middle of the three-sitter seat between two young men. The other one near the window had a bout of cough and cold, wiping his nose and covering his mouth with a pink towel every time he coughed and sneezed.  How hygienic I thought. With the AH1N1 hovering the air these days, I prayed he wasn’t a carrier but I had a sighed of relief with that responsible gesture of the man.

 

7:20 A.M.

When I was a young boy I attended my grades 1 to four and came back in grade 6 again in Bongdu Elementary School.  I remember I headed a bunch of boy scouts to search for a treasure.  Holding a map written in ballpen and a piece of paper we hiked up the zigzag of Sual.  We ended up a winner when my co-boy scout was able to find the treasure.

Now as I passed by Suasalito Restaurant at the top of the mountain after the town of Sual I could still the little boy in me enjoying the view of the China Sea and the long stretch of Lingayen Gulf. 

The old Suasalito Restaurant still stood there and its famous name still intact and engraved like ancient name in a pine wood.

 8:00 A.M.

I didn’t mind the heat though I felt as if I was a burning potato beside an oven.   Again when I was very tiny, malnourished and sickly, I couldn’t stand travelling the long hours from Alaminos to Sta. Cruz.  It was a cruel thing for my young age as I dozed sparingly and felt dizzy all the way, vomiting frequently at the slight thudding of the bus.

But I admired what was done in this sleepy part of the world. It was sleepy then, the unpaved and rocky roads; the houses that were covered with grayish ash during dry season and reddish on rainy days, the towns turned into bustling and vibrant communities. 

My motion sickness wasn’t cured until I reached my college days. That was long and enduring, painful experience that I ever had.

Then my cellphone beeped. The text came from my sister asking where I was and whether I was coming or not. I replied differently from what she expected.  She asked again, I answered like evading a question by a prosecutor.

I did it intentionally, not to be disobedient but to surprise her and her companions.

9:15 A.M.

When the bus passed through the coastlines of Burgos, Dasol and Infanta, I knew Sta. Cruz was within sight.  The nipa huts along the roads of Dasol and Infanta which were near the seashores emitted smoke from the rooftops.  Famous for its produce of quality homemade salts which were taken straight from the ponds and cooked in a delicate fashion, Infanta boasted of these traditional salt making. 

I knew that the Infanta salt reached Acoje and I could grind on them if they were white chocolates.

9:55 A.M.

As the bus turned into the town plaza of Sta. Cruz my heart jumped into excitement.  My mind was rushing as to whether to proceed straight to the Acoje reunion meeting or roam around the town first. 

I alighted in front of the park adjacent to the Sta. Cruz Academy and took a couple of shots from my cellphone camera.

'

I asked a tricycle driver if he knew of a lodging house where I could rest.  He said, there’s one after the bridge past the town.  Instead I proceeded inside SCA and changed my clothes.  I put on again the blue polo shirt that I wore back in Manila still wrinkled but not noticeable, washed my face from the bottle of cold mineral water I bought at the school canteen, then sprinkled my face with dash of perfume, fixed my bag and found my way inside the St. Michael church.

Then my cellphone beeped.

The text asked where I was, as if the person that sent it sensed I was just nearby.  If only that person knew that I came all the way from Baguio then Manila to Zambales for a total of 30 hours trip on a bus, that person should be really happy.

But I doubted about it.

'

10:00 A.M.

After saying a brief prayer inside the church I composed my self and walked towards the venue.

Vilma Malicdem instantly recognized me when I approached the group of people inside the reunion venue beside the St. Michael church. I didn’t even recognize my sister Chato right away as I was focused on Sister Vilma who was smiling when she saw me.

Then I turned to my sister and briefly acknowledged her.

Mar Malicdem was there, her sister Mercy, who I mercilessly trying to meet since arriving in Baguio on the 27^th of June.

I met my former high school teacher, Mrs Saturnina Publico, my science teacher back in third year.  Still the amiable woman, she talked about her teaching experience as I listened attentively.  She said they were already just four of them teaching ninety high school students.

Right after the reunion meeting she will be back to Acoje along with some of the participants who travelled all the way down the mountains of Acoje.

Miss Nida De Castro and Yolanda de Castro Cabuco, were there, both my facebook mates.

Dr. Nikki Azan was a petite lady,  I thought at first she just graduated straight from high school.

‘I met the famous Edwin Manaois at last,’ she exclaimed.

‘That was flattering, but I’m not.’

‘Just settle down as we prepare the equipment and lunch today,’ she said reassuringly.

There were other people, mostly younger ones, that I didn’t recognize at all.   Perhaps they were the younger generations of Acojenians that stayed behind and settled for good in Acoje.

We lined up for food which was prepared by the organizer.  Miss Banal, who was extremely worried said that she prepared for only 60 people but registration rose to 80 people.

‘That’s a miracle,’ I said. ‘No need to worry, you see everyone feasted of the food, just enough for all of us.’

1:00 P.M.

The meeting was held inside St. Michael.  Though the audio was barely audible I believed something went out positively during the meeting.

What I knew was that Batch 79 was in charge for the food preparation. 

‘I guess you’ll be in charge Merlie since you are here.’ I said.

‘Nothing I can do, I’l do my best but Im not comfortable with our committee,’ she muttered.

'

 4:00 P.M.

After the meeting, I rode with Mar in his Toyota, Mercy, Vilma and my sister Chato back to Dasol, Mercy’s place.

Emong wanted me to stay so I could ride back with him to Lucapon. 

At Mercy’s place I chatted with Mercy’s mother.  She knew me, and I was elated and who wouldn’t since her two sons, Rodel and Henry were my close friends, and when I talked about my friendship with Henry and Gado, playing guitar below their house in Acoje, Mercy’s mother was teary eyed.  And my eyes reddened as well, seeing in her my mother who had passed away too soon when I was still a budding teenager wanting her care and guidance.

She asked a lot of questions, the people that I met in the meeting, she talked about her work in the mines, the death of her husband and all about her children that were a joy to her. 

Then she mentioned something about Sister Vilma, something about her trip faraway soon.  Though I often see Sister Vilma back in Baguio with friends,  her niece and nephew, she never mentioned a thing about it.  It doesn’t matter though because Emie and Charmee, would still be there anyway, friends that could be called upon when you’re down.  We could have conversed more but I was called to go back to Sta. Cruz. As I left that day when the sun was about to hide behind the horizon, I knew I would be better having seen the people I longed to see for years, the place that made significant impact in my being, but I knew it’s just the beginning, another restlessness that only my soul could comprehend.

 

A very short love story

If I were then past my innocence I would have said yes to a girl who said,

‘I like you.’

I would have held her hands and took her to the forest.

Who wouldn’t refuse a proposal from a lovely girl,
all the qualities that I admired most then – she possessed?

She said I was the most handsome boy in the Mines she had ever seen,
huggable,
lovable and ideal one for her.

She’s one of my sister’s best friends, but who cares.

What I knew then was that - love was something worth saying
rather than worth keeping. 

And if she would say it again, ‘I love you’ 

I would definitely say ‘Yes”.

While I wait…

---

---

 

Cramped Inside

'

Several hours before my high school batch reunion I found myself cramped inside a van.

There’s no way I could take the aircon bus going to Makati because I would be late as the bus  would take a long route through the Coastal Road then navigate heavy traffic along Buendia. So taking the aircon van parked beside Jollibee along Casimiro was an ideal choice.

Inside the van we were liked squeezed 19 salmons, stiff all over including my neck. I believe it was a bit of common sense for the operators and drivers not to squeeze in another soul in a three-sitter seat. Well, pitty me I gave in to that autocratic display of capitalism in time of economic downturn

I could have alighted like a fuming salmon but the portion of the street along Evacom was flooded to the knee with murky and filthy water.  I just sighed and feasted my eyes at my fellow passengers who seemed unmindful of the heavy rain and flooded streets as all their eyes were shut, perhaps daydreaming or dozing for few minutes.

Then several hours after I found myself cramped inside again, but this time in a different venue. With loud music, softer seats, cooler air and a company of long lost friends, the cramped room was far superior to the cramped van. 

Done on purpose it would mean closer interaction, exchanging pleasantries closer to the ears, rubbing shoulders and elbows and hugging each other to pose and take photos with the people who made significant marks in your life.

It was like déjà vu, young teenagers then wedging a space to pose for class photos: so childish it makes you shed tears if you remember.

 

Kapre

'

“Can you manage to go home alone, I’ll take you back,” her friend said.

“Thanks, I’ll be all right. See you tomorrow.”

As she inched her way through the dim rocky pathway, she could still hear the faint voice of her friend begging to escort her.

“It’s dim out there now. I’ll take you down the stairs…”

The unusual large jackfuit tree with its branches spanning like long arms of a giant squid dwarfed the pretty young girl who was walking along the rocky path directly below it.  It was dark, probably around eight o’clock in the evening where cicadas had begun their ritual chirp among the thick foliage that surrounded the tree.

She had passed that rocky path most of the times, finding her way down a stairs of slabs and wood railings which was illuminated by a solitary orange bulb hanging on a steel post at the corner.

And at the foot of the stairs was the bunkhouse of her school mate, often dark at the kitchen at that hour.

Then she stopped and wondered why the path she was taking had darkened and all she can see ahead were faint shadows of unrecognizable images.  The night wind had stopped yet chilly, her spine tingled.

She raised her head as she noticed something above her; her eyes squinted as the shaft of fine lights from the partly hidden moon shone upon her pale face and fine hair.

Was she dreaming? She wasn’t, she was standing there below the tree, alone in that dark portion of the path.

She never believed in ghosts and those sorts of spooky characters she happened to see on television and horror movies shown at the Acoje gym.  She laughed about their funny faces.

Now she’s staring at the awesome creepy creature she had never imagined, its long and hairy huge limb hanging loosely from the large branch it was sitting on.  She could smell the stomach-churning smell of dead bodies and the creature’s limb almost touching her head.  She looked further up. Her mouth open-wide, she saw the creature’s abdomen like large breast of a wild animal, and its mouth puffing an imposing size tobacco. Large billow of smoke rose up the sky, the flickers sparkling to the ground in front of her.

She rubbed her eyes and thought it wasn’t happening to her. It wasn’t real, she said.  She was stiff like a rod, then, she looked up one last time.  Whether she saw the creature again or not, she didn’t care. She scurried away from where she was standing, jumping down steps of the wooden stairs like an athlete, and dashed out past the house of her school mate. She reached her parent’s bunkhouse, grabbed the knob of the door breathing helplessly and in shock.

Slamming the door behind her and pressing her back against the door she didnt notice her mother shocked as she was and thought that a raging wild boar rammed the door.

“There you go,” her mother exclaimed, “Where have you been? Late again for dinner.”

>>Dream

 

Dream

'

The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives and the dreams shall never die. Edward Kennedy

The bunkhouse where her parents lived seemed abandoned as it was utterly dark inside it. The windows were closed and the door shut but she heard a tiny creaking sound as if a rocking chair rocked in the middle of the house.

She reckoned it was nearly midnight and wondered why no one was expecting her – not even her mother who usually peeped through the half open window looking at her walked down the alley towards their bunkhouse.

The rows of bunkhouses too snored heavily that hour, faint lights coming through the tiny holes of their walls, which only meant one thing that souls inside those bunkhouses were into their deep slumber.

Climbing her way past the wooden stairs, she found her cat lying at the doorstep. It wasn’t moving, or the cat didn’t recognize her, perhaps too grossed in its sleep that it failed to notice her master had just arrived.

Then a gust of wind blew behind her slowly opening the door in front of her. She folded her arm to her chest, her fine hair tousled, as her feet hesitated to step inside. She groped for the switch of the light at the wall on her right and turned it on, its orange rays waved through the corners of the house.

Her eyes were met with empty chairs and table. There was really not a single soul to meet her.  Where is everyone, she thought.

Still, she wondered where the creaking sound was coming from.  It was making her uncomfortable, though the creaking sound was tiny as a beetle’s cry and appeared to be coming from a deep hole still it gave her a chill. She prayed it won’t drive her nuts.

Then the sound came again and now she was sure it was coming from her own room.

She inched her way towards her room and slowly she heaved the curtain with her fine fingers.  Who or what was the thing inside her own room doing, she thought.

There was really a figure sitting in a rocking chair, a girl and holding a newborn baby.   The girl’s face was familiar to her, but she was unsure who she was.  Then she felt she wanted to touch the girl and the child, so she moved closer while the creaking of the rocking chair continued to haunt her.  Now she was an inch away.  She can smell the girl and the child, the smell so sweet like wild flowers then, the child began to cry. She stepped back as the cry of the baby startled her. The cry grew stronger and the creaking of the chair became unbearable, now banging hardly to her ears, then she turned around and ran away.  When she opened her eyes, her cat was soundly napping on top of her chest.

The morning sun had shone swiftly through the open window of her room and the wail of the Mine’s siren reminded her that she had only a minute to catch up with her morning class.

 <<Kapre

 

Withered

“It is better wither to be silent, or to say things of more value than silence. Sooner throw a pearl at hazard than an idle or useless word; and do not say a little in many words, but a great deal in a few.“  Pythagoras

 

 

Far from the attic, the kitchen and the narrow corridor that served as my playground inside our bunkhouse I was catapulted into a new atmosphere, a new kind of environment right in an unknown territory – inside a cold hospital in the middle of Dagupan City.

Minutes after we alighted from a mini-bus in front of the Quizon Hospital I felt like a withered plant in desperate need of a bucket of water.  But to drink any liquid or take any solid food was far from my mind.

I needed to lie down and curled underneath a sheet of blanket to let my agonizing body recuperate from the six-hour trip.  I knew how my body worked because in half an hour or so I would soon be jumping like nothing had happened.

We climbed a tiled ladder until we reached the second floor with so many doors, most of them closed doors and had signs attached on them.  The narrow and long corridor was cold as if the warm wind from the outside had never attempted to find its course. 

As my eyes feasted on what I saw and my brain working like an alarm clock I was disengaged from them from time to time as my tender and bony hands ached with the firm grip that my mother’s stressed hands had put on them.

I could see the worried face of my mother – the first time I ever saw her that way.

 “Hurry up,” she said, her soft hand griping firmly on my hands, squeezing it, as if I was losing my breath, panting as I tried to keep up with her fast pace. 

“Mamang…” I pleaded, looking at her and then to the faces of nurses that we met, the faces of patients in grief and pain inside the wards that we passed by along the cold hallway.

“No time to taking a rest now, so hurry.”

The room where my grandmother was led into was on the left side at the middle of the hallway. 

“This must be it, Room 221,” my mother releasing finally my aching hands, and leading me first into the room.

I sat and immediately curled my body against the cold leather of the sofa at the corner of the room while my mother, teary-eyed dashed closer to the bed beside my grandmother who was motionless, perhaps sleeping and covered with white blanket up to her neck. A female nurse, young looking glanced at me momentarily then greeted my mother.  She was holding a clipboard and was writing something on it then left us.

Then, half an hour or so later I got up from my temporary bed and began to wander the room like a policeman patrolling the rows of bunkhouses and rocky alleys of Acoje.

<<Misbehaved

 

First Fear

'

“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature.”  Anne Frank

 

When Stella left to join her parents to live in their new home, I was left alone playing in the empty space of our bunkhouse’s narrow corridor leading into the kitchen. With a cat that was uncooperative who chose to mingle with the rats above the ceiling instead of playing with a civilized toddler  I had no recourse but to reinvent the world that Stella left – scribbling something on a piece of paper under the table, looked out from the window and envied the school children playing in the playground  from a distant during their breaks, and when I felt tired, sometimes untiring though, I settled to the kitchen to grab a piece of leftover pandesal for my hourly snacks.

That was when I first heard the silly noise at the kitchen, a noise that made me scrutinized every nook and cranny of our bunkhouse through the open cracks on the walls with my two tiny eyes, my inquisitive ears pressed against the walls, and even my sense of smell, if I remember I did use it.

Hissh, wooshs, ughh ahhhhs, hisssh

I was six then, or somewhere around that careless age that I understood the first meaning of fear.

---

>>Behind the Wall
<<Stranger in the Neighborhood

 

Innocent Dream

“The innocent and the beautiful Have no enemy but time”  
William Butler Yeats

It wasn’t the kind of joke he had heard for a long time. From the young boy’s mind what he heard was a promise more than a joke.  And as he stepped out from the last ladder in his friend’s bunkhouse, he could still hear the soft voice of the girl who said that – still fresh as the morning dew, as young as the Mine’s early sun shining on his innocent-looking face.

Those words that echoed in the wind, and the bunkhouse as witness, was made more than thirty years ago when the Mines was still vibrant as the deep green of trees that surrounded it.

Because what he heard then was like a poem that touched his heart, ‘You’re the cutest boy I’ve ever seen…if you could grow up fast I’ll be waiting for you.’

It could be a poem, perhaps an immortal poem that suddenly ignited the passion to feel the lines of that poem again.  Or a nice line of a dialogue from a western romance movie perhaps, a scene in a dream where waking up was regretful thing to realize.

Then, there’s a full length of a movie trailer called love, currently showing, and the scene, the mysterious venue called life.

 

Window to my Soul

'

“The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun.”
- John Greenleaf Whittier

 

Coming home one day, I noticed the window of the room that I usually slept in when I was very young half open.

Perhaps it had been that way – night and day, rain or shine.

I didn’t bother to go up and find out why it was that way, let alone my mind wondered – a window half open to let the sunshine penetrating, the drops of rain pouring in and all imaginable unseen essences sheltering?

Like a picture of a haunted house in a movie where a lady in white staring blankly as the sun slowly rises up in the east, waiting to be resurrected – my skin shivered.

I could still remember when I was ten years old and sleeping alone in that room, leaving the window wide open to let the wind in, I saw a black bird gently landed on the window sill.  Perhaps I was just dreaming, tired of a late night game playing when the moon was large enough like hotcake I had earlier for breakfast, we stared at each other as my eyes blinked until it closed like a malfunctioning 45watt bulb.

The bird’s upper and lower mandible were long, its crown thick and its eyes were pitch black and naturally there wasn’t a stray of fadedness in its feathers except a dash of light coming from the moon’s rays that had escaped through the thick leaves of the ‘santol’ tree outside the window.

Then I awoke prematurely the next day by a loud scream of a man – his terrified voice coming from the narrow street beside the house.  It was a scream that had the entire neighborhood woke prematurely as I was.  I learned that the man had an encounter with a ghost priest in that early dawn. 

But I guess all the ghosts that loitered around my neighborhood seemed to be very friendly to me.  Though passing all alone in several occasions under the large imposing ‘mabolo’ tree at the back of the house – where the ghost priest thought to dwell – I was always met with a euphoric feeling like a child that never cared about the outside world.

I love the sweet tasting fruit of the ‘mabolo’ tree. As my ‘baon’ to school that I kept in inside my bag – its smell was a perfume for my six-year old leather school bag. 

Suspended around my shoulder, my leather bag made an uncomfortable noise when I ran, and passing under the ‘mabolo’ tree on the way to school and back, its rattling noise perhaps, had kept intruders away – including ghosts I supposed.

Since then I left my window half open every time I sleep but I wondered why the window was still half opened until now – as if it knew I was coming?

---

 

Flex

'

Fitness – if it came in a bottle, everybody would have a great body.  ~Cher

Imagine for almost a year I never hit the gym. I had ran for five laps around an oval near my flat back home but other than that I never visited a gym.

I did just today and what a sweat it had been.

So I took the road on my jumper, a short and a rubber shoes then flexed my aging muscles.

Starting with a warm up using a long bamboo stick I did some stretching to condition my upper body.

One, inhale, two, exhale, three…inhale…

I did it deliberately slow and followed up with a shoulder press for 6×8; then extended back press for 3×8.

One, inhale, two, exhale, three…inhale…

Alternating with sit-up routines on an inclined platform, I did a bench press – my forehead poured beads of sweat, what a feeling!

MORE, my mind said. I did another routine for one more time, dashing to the wall mirror dabbing my head, face and forehead with a face towel after each set. My cheek blushed like a pale red apple.

That was it, less than an hour of strenuous exercise, but rewarding as I felt the rush of blood circulating around my veins.

Yes, Plato was right as I glanced on the gym’s wall, the board said “Lack of activity destroys the good condition of every human being, while movement and methodical physical exercise save it and preserve it. “

One, inhale, two, exhale, three…inhale… I hit the road back home.