The prospect of going to the museum seemed to be the only interesting thing Carol could think of. She had no schedule or errands to run, and she had been pacing back and forth in the small hotel room like a caged animal. Besides, there was a newly opened museum in the city. People had raved about it on social media. Carol didn’t usually like to join the bandwagon, but she had no idea what else to do for the day, so she gave in.
The building was shaped like a durian, the so-called king of fruits in the country. Carol thought about the several times she and her friend had eaten durian late at night just because they were craving it. The funny thing about cravings is that they demand action. She wasn’t exactly craving to visit a museum, but the feeling was eerily similar. She needed to act on it; otherwise, she would feel the familiar pit of emptiness and disappointment that she had grown accustomed to.
Warm light, white porcelain tiles, and the slight smell of disinfectant greeted her. A life-sized version of the Philippine eagle stood in the first hall. The eagle’s eyes, if viewed up close, had pupils that converged as though fixed on one particular thing. Carol could almost imagine having tunnel vision eyes, as she herself was never a multitasker. Once, she was so excited to go to this artsy street in Bacolod that she had left her wallet in the cab—one of the proofs that once she liked something, it consumed her completely.
In the next hall, a miniature Mount Apo, the tallest peak in the country, stood before her. Even though it was only a replica, it made her imagine the thin mountain air brushing against her skin. For a moment, she could see herself standing at the summit, her worries and problems dissipating. The sensation almost felt real. Out of habit, she pinched her arm, feeling the familiar sting. She thought she had reached the peak of pain, only to realize she had more to learn. Two years ago, she believed she had found someone to spend her life with—only to descend back into the lowlands alone. The memory lingered as she moved on to the next room. There, she discovered the Rafflesia, the world’s largest single flower.
She couldn’t help but imagine its foul smell. Its enormous red-orange petals looked indestructible, but she was stunned to learn that once in bloom, the flower lasts only five to seven days before withering. Carol’s chest suddenly tightened. A bead of sweat formed on her brow. She realized that, like the Rafflesia, her happiness always seemed to bloom briefly.
Because of the unwanted feelings that had surfaced, she almost regretted her decision to visit the museum. But then, on the other side of the room, mannequins dressed in colorful dagmay fabric seemed to be calling her. She then remembered from college how meticulous the weaving process was—abaca fibers stripped, dyed, and woven by hand. If only I were half as patient as they were, she thought, but her reflection was suddenly interrupted by the large image of an old, beautiful Manobo woman smiling with her eyes alone. At that moment, Carol decided it was the perfect ending to her tour.
A new dream took form in her mind: to learn, someday, how to smile like that old Manobo woman.
Abi Andoy is a government employee working in the Local Government Unit of Bayabas, Surigao del Sur.