I went back to this place in Tangub,
where I could still hear the beeping of tricycles,
smell the smoke from the Libot Tangub vehicles,
and watch the golden shower leaves brush gently along the streets.
The place is still the same — simply home.
Nothing has changed, except for Manong selling malunggay pandesal
And the tarpaulins on the street corners printed with Bible verses.
As I walked, I found myself standing before a familiar name — “Kalaw Street”.
Memories came rushing in like lightning.
I remembered everything that happened here,
the laughter and the tears we shared,
the one piece of “kwek-kwek” we bought from Kuya Suki,
the five-peso buko juice from Manong George.
It has been eleven years since I last came here — nothing has changed.
It is still the old street that holds the memory of you — of us.
This street witnessed the crash of your red Yamaha motorcycle.
the place where your body fell to the ground,
and where your blood was scattered across the road.
It was on Kalaw Street where I last held you in my arms,
and looked into your eyes —
before you said goodbye.
Aaron Diapana is a Literature instructor from Northwestern Mindanao State College of Science and Technology. He considers writing nonfiction, poetry, and essays in his leisure time.