It was a cold December morning when the undoubtedly strange silence woke me up from my peaceful slumber. I was four years old and it was the first time that I had actually woken up on my own. Everything turned out rather strange. I couldn’t hear the chirping birds from the outside when in fact, it was six in the morning. I couldn’t hear my mother blabbering, or the black and white TV set tuned up for the usual morning news. Not even the radio was on, nor the usual gossiping of our neighbors. The strange silence gave me the chills. I found myself silently wondering in my own room until I heard a familiar sound from the garage. It was the earsplitting sound of Papa’s old motorcycle engine. Somehow, it enlivened me so I rushed to the front door to hug him. When I peered through a small opening of the heavy wooden door, I hesitated to approach him. He was talking to my young aunt, Mama, and even Lala, my grandma – and they weren’t smiling. So, I turned back and went to my grandpa’s room instead. When I was about to knock on the door, I felt tears trickling down my cheeks. For no apparent reason at all, I was crying in front of Lolo’s room. It gave me a very heavy feeling inside, telling me that something was not right. When I opened the door, I found Lolo lying on his bed, covered with a blanket. He was dead. Until now, I still wonder how I somehow knew about Lolo’s death. There are no valid explanations at all. Maybe it was a child’s intuition, and I know I won’t be able to feel it again, not in that same innocent way.
Lachelle Marie Ravelo is taking up BS Architecture in UP Mindanao.