Category: Fiction

The Right Choice

Fiction by | May 20, 2013

I opened my eyes as I heard the distant crowing of the earliest roosters. It was still dark. I wasn’t sure if I had actually slept, but I got out of bed and stretched. My feet, seeming to have a mind of their own, carried me to the window which I opened to a gust of wind. I breathed in the scent of peace and quiet. It felt like Ramadhan, the peace and quiet. I continued looking into the dark, seeing nothing. I shivered in the cold. I could feel it coming from within my own body. I stood waiting for any sign of the first activities of the day, but it was too early. I decided to go out to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee before the house stirred. I sipped on my coffee, realizing for the first time, after many years of coffee-drinking, how bad coffee tasted.

I went out to the familiar living room that had been witness to many unforgettable moments. My first big accident, when, running around with my little sister, I hit my head on the sharp corner of the marble-topped table. I’d never seen my parents as anxious and worried as they were at that time. My brothers were in complete shock and my sister in tears as they saw all that blood oozing from my cracked-open head. I felt everyone wanting to trade places with me as each knew how this would upset and anger my father. I was eight years old and I was my father’s favorite.

We were also seated in the same area when we, as one family, talked about and planned my eldest brother’s wedding. And my second brother’s. It was also in this place that my sister and I comforted each other as the news of our father’s untimely death came to shatter the strong wall that we all were leaning on all those years. Before that, we thought we were invincible. We thought we were untouchable. Yes, death has such a cruel way of making one realize that no one is really safe. My father was sure he would live until the age of ninety-eight. He would have done everything by then, he told me. He wanted to make a difference. But he died thirty-five years earlier. And this living room ceased to be a living room.

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Shadows

Fiction by | April 14, 2013

Jomari is convinced that a monster is out to get him. He could see it dancing on the walls, edging closer and closer to the foot of his bed. Sometimes, he could feel it tickling the soles of his feet. Other times, it would nip at his ears. It is a small thing, no bigger than his fist. The shadow follows him even under the cover of the blanket, making its way up his legs, squeezing in right beside him. Jomari would turn away from it and shut his eyes. He doesn’t want to see it.

Night after the night, the shadow would creep inside his room to nibble at his toes. Sometimes, it would laugh at him. Its piercing shriek of a laugh would have Jomari hiding his head under the pillows. But somehow, the tinny laugh would find its way through Jomari, its echoes reverberating inside his head.

In the morning, Jomari would get headaches. He has not been sleeping well. There were bags under his eyes. At school, he often falls asleep in class, his head leaning against the wall.

In between breaks, or whenever he was awake, he thinks of ways of getting rid of the monster. The monster always comes from under his doorway, slipping in through the gap between the door and the floor.

Jomari writes notes that he keeps tucked between the pages of a notebook. He has a habit of reminding himself. He is afraid of forgetting even the littlest of things. Maybe, he thinks, the notes could help him.

 

28 Feb
I think I know where the monster is coming from.
I don’t know how it got there, but it’s there.
There’s nothing I can do to get rid of it.
Or maybe, I haven’t tried everything yet.

 
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Bintana ni Juanito

Fiction by | April 7, 2013

Alas singko ng umaga’y gising na ang diwa ko upang maghanda sa pagpasok ko sa paaralan. Lumabas muna ako upang umigib ng tubig. Maya-maya’y batid ko ang pag-dampi ng malamig na hangin sa nanginginig kong katawan. Bigla kong napansin ang mukha ni Juanito na naka dungaw na naman sa bintana ng kanilang payak na barong-barong. Nakatulala na naman si Juanito na tila nililipad ng hangin ang isipan.

Ilang segundo ang nakalipas ng makita ang tanawing yaon ay biglang nilamon ang katahimikan ng isang sigaw. “JUANITO!” Si Aling Letty na naman ito, ang nanay ni Juanito, na tila ba’y umiiyak na tinatawag ang kanyang anak. Biglang isinara ni Juanito ang bintana at madalian siyang tumakbo patungo sa kanyang ina. Ako nama’y binalot ng katanungan ngunit nagpatuloy na lamang sa aking ginagawa at itinuon ang pag-iisip sa paghahanda patungong paaralan.

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One New Message

Fiction by | March 31, 2013

“Teka. Wait. Ka-text ko pa si Mama…”

Every time I hear those words, I instantly remember my high school days.

Back then, when I said said such a line, especially in front of my barkada, they would immediately assume that I was a mama’s boy. Often, this would be followed by a series of I-have-an-overly-protective-mother jokes. They put on high-pitched voices and went: “’Nak, kumain ka na?” “Yung likod mo baka basa. Magbihis ka na.” and “May pulbos ka d’yan sa bag mo. Ipinasok ka kagabi habang natutulog ka.”

In high school, I recalled that I raged against my mother when she snooped in my email account. I was irritated when she kept asking about my whereabouts, who I hung out with, and if I would have dinner with the rest of the family. Her questions would always be followed by her imperative need to know what time I would be home.

I grudged against her every time this happened. Sometimes, it left me wondering when I would actually be allowed to make decisions of my own and finally exercise my God-given free will. Thoughtlessly, I often ignored my mother’s text messages and even refused to answer her calls, just for the heck of it.

But that was before. In a span of just over 6 months, things have changed drastically and guess what?

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Kwentong MRT, Part 2

Fiction by | March 10, 2013

MRTBoni
Sa pagpreno ng tren ay hindi sinasadyang nasagi ni Can’t Deny ang braso ko. Kadalasan ay ayaw kong nadadampian ng balat ng ibang tao. Hindi ko talaga gusto ang ganoong pakiramdam. Pero sa pagkakataon na ito ay hindi ko siya ininda.

Kung kanina ay hindi ko maalis ang pagkakatitig ko sa kanya, ngayon naman ay hindi ko na maiangat ang aking mga mata kay Can’t Deny. Sapat na ang maramdaman ko siya sa aking tabi, at ang panakanakang paglanghap ko sa kanyang pabango.

Huminga ako nang malalim. Biglang pumasok sa aking diwa ang sabi-sabi na: kapag pinigilan mo ang iyong paghinga habang patawid ng tulay ay matutupad ang isa mong kahilingan pagdating mo sa dulo.

Kasabay ng pagtanaw ko sa Ilog Pasig, ang biglaang pagnanasa na makasama ko si Can’t Deny sa ilalim ng sikat ng araw.

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Kwentong MRT, Part 1

Fiction by | March 3, 2013

North Ave,
Humahangos akong lumusot sa papasarang pintuan ng tren ng MRT. Maswerte naman ako at meron pang bakanteng mauupuan sa gitnang bahagi ng seksyon na nakareserba para sa mga babae, mga may edad, at mga may kapansanan. Sinadya kong sa estasyon ng North Ave. sumakay para mas malaki ang posibilidad na makauupo ako. Nakakapagod kasing tumayo sa halos apatnapung minutong biyahe hanggang sa estasyon ng MRT sa Taft, lalo pa’t meron akong backpack na may lamang damit, laptop at digital camera.

Katamtaman ang dami ng laman ng tren sa paglarga nito. Mag-aalas diyes ng umaga na rin kasi. Sumandal ako sa matigas na upuan at ibinaling ang aking atensyon sa mga imaheng lumilipas sa labas.

Mataas na ang sikat ng araw. Mabuti na lamang at malakas ang buga ng hangin ng aircon sa loob ng tren.

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She, the City

Fiction by | February 24, 2013

Mrs Elizaga had been standing for some time in the middle of the living room with one hand touching her throat and a broom in the other, while she stared at the front door, which was firmly shut and bolted; through the gaps between the door and its jambs streamed the harsh light from outside like metal blades. Clods of dirt had been gathered at her feet, and the blue plastic dustpan stood, as if waiting, in one corner. She was used to keeping house and did so with as much fervor even after the children had all gone to families of their own and even years after her husband’s death. But that day she thought that all that had been taught her in housekeeping—or rather, everything that had been her practice—was incorrect and that her entire life dedicated to that task as wife and mother had been a mistake. But perhaps, she thought, it was because what she expected to come home anytime that day was a husband coming home from the grave.

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Chen Wei’s Magic Amulet

Fiction by | February 10, 2013

Chen Wei threw his socks, school uniform, and Math exams across his room. But not the golden dragon amulet he found while exploring at the botanical garden that afternoon. He made sure nobody, not even the school janitor, was watching when he pocketed it. He thought it had magic powers like those he saw on Wansapanatym. He wiped it clean with his shirt and wore it like a necklace.

Chen Wei had a terrible day in school but there was nobody at home he could talk to about it. His parents were away again for some business trip in Cebu and he wasn’t sure when they were coming back. His aunt Betty stayed at the house, but they seldom talked to each other during the day; most of the time, after she would finish doing all her household chores, she would go outside and chat with the neighbors. She loved to talk about the latest showbiz buzz.

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