What Time Can't Heal

Fiction by | July 22, 2012

Angela and her sons were on their way home from the mall when Poi, her youngest, asked a question.

“Ma, why don’t you and father live together anymore?”

From her left, Angela could see that Banjo, her eldest, was also anticipating her response. She had a feeling he had always wanted to know, but never had the courage to ask. Unlike Banjo who was ten, Poi was only seven and had the benefit of not knowing what tact meant.

“We just weren’t happy with each other anymore, and we didn’t want to keep fighting. So we chose to live separately.”

“But why weren’t you happy with Papa? Don’t you love him?”

Of course she did. But after Eric, her husband, lost his job, she found it more and more difficult to do. He suddenly started hanging out with his friends more, drinking more and learning how to smoke. She tried to pass it off as stress, but when he came home drunk one night and hit her, she decided it was enough. She couldn’t be with a man who had the will to hit her, because if he’d already done so, what was to say he wouldn’t do it again?

Her children deserved a better image of their father, though. That part of his character she would never tell them.

“Sometimes, things happen to people,” Angela said, “and sometimes, Poi, people change because of it. When your father changed, it became difficult for both of us to be happy.”

She wasn’t sure if her sons understood, but they left it at that. For the rest of the ride home, Poi annoyed his brother who was playing with his PSP.

When they reached home, the boys raced into the house while Angela was left to pay the cab driver. She handed over the money and was about to get out when the cab driver suddenly spoke.

“Have you talked to your husband ever since you separated, ma’am?”

The question struck her since she couldn’t remember when she last talked to Eric. She opted not to answer the cab driver and with a polite smile, exited the cab.

That night Angela couldn’t sleep, thinking of the cab driver’s question. When had she last talked to Eric again? Was it after their last session of the annulment trial? How long ago had that been? How had he been doing since? Was he able to turn his life around?

Eventually the guilt of not having talked to her former husband consumed her and she decided to try and talk to him. She called him the next morning despite all her apprehensions. When after the first time he didn’t pick up, she didn’t try to call him again. Angela didn’t want to force the issue.

Maybe two years was too short a time for the wounds to have healed.


Emiko Escovilla was born in Davao City and is currently enrolled in the AB English program of Ateneo de Davao University.

Saad

Fiction by | July 8, 2012

Hayskul ko kaniadto sa Tabon, mga kinse anyos akong pangidaron, kadtong misugilon kanako si Rhen, akong magulang nga babaye ug usa ka nars, bahin sa iyang suod nga higala nga si Sam, usa pod ka nars. Klasmet sila sugod sa elementarya, hayskul ug ingon man hangtod sa kolehiyo. Saksi akong magulang sa mga panghitabo sa kinabuhi ni Sam ingon man ang kasuod niini sa iyang amahan.

Si Sam o Samantha kay usa ka babaye gikan sa prominente nga pamilya sa Mangagoy, siyudad sa Bislig. Kinamanghoran siya ug bugtong babaye sa tulo ka magsuon. Ilado siya sa tibuok eskwelahan sa iyang kaanyag ug kinaadman. Gwapa si Sam, sama sa kaanindot sa Enchanted River ug Tinuy-an Falls, ug daghan buot mangulitawo kaniya. Siya usab ang pangbato sa mga kompetisyon may kabahin sa pautukay ilabi na sa ingles ug matematika. Sa kadtong panahona ang naa sa isip ni Sam kay ang iyang amahan, ang iyang first boyfriend.

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I Am No. 2

Fiction by | July 1, 2012

My name is Linda and I am No.2

The last time I saw Jay, I knew it’s going to be the last time, at least the last time that we’re going to be the way we were. It was dawn, that fateful day in August 2008. My then husband came home the evening prior, drunk and unemployed. He just lost his job due to poor attendance. I tried to show him that I was supportive. I joined him in the dining room while he ate his late dinner and tried to ask him subtle questions about his day without magnifying the problem. We had been married for 2 and a half years, we have a daughter who is barely 2 years old, and a son from my first marriage. Yes, Jay is my second husband, and is about to be my second ex.

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The Bride

Fiction by | June 24, 2012

The antang was concluded, and Lele was betrothed to Dudim, the son of the lukes from the next Manobo hamlet. When Lele’s father broke the news to her, she nodded meekly, even forced herself to smile. But as soon as the old man was out of the hut, tears raced down her cheeks.

The girl glanced out the window and saw Saluding under a tree, staring back at her. His face was dark and his jaw was clenched. There was no longer any future for them.

The bamboo floor creaked and Lele recognized the familiar footsteps of her mother. The girl wiped her cheeks with her hands and Saluding walked away.

Lele’s mother must have caught the glances between her daughter and Saluding, but the woman acted as though she did not notice anything. “Come here, Lele,” she said. “Put this sudung on your hair. You have to look beautiful. Hurry, now.”

“I don’t want to go out of the house, Ina,” Lele said.

“Don’t embarrass your uncle, Lele. He is our lukes and he has arranged a good marriage for you. All he is asking you to do now is go to his hut and bid goodbye to your future husband and his father.”

Ina, I don’t want to get married. I don’t like Dudim.”

“I don’t know what’s the matter with you young people nowadays. When your father asked for my hand, I did not utter a single word against it. Look, Lele, there’s nothing more you can ask for. Dudim is a good hunter and not much older than you. You are lucky. Think of the previous kenogon here who was married. Her husband was the same age as her father.”

“Dudim is ugly and bosses people around. He thinks he’s more powerful than his father.”

“He may not be the most dashing man in these parts, but Dudim’s not ugly, Lele. You know that. And, yes, he seems too proud at times, but it’s just his way of commanding respect. Being the son of the lukes, Dudim has a good chance of succeeding his father, and people should recognize his standing this early.”

“He’s ugly, Ina, and I just don’t like him.”

“Stop acting like a child, Lele. You’re already fourteen, a woman now. And a wife soon.”

Tears fell again from Lele’s eyes. “My heart does not beat for Dudim.”

“I will hear nothing of that, Lele. You will learn to love Dudim, just like I did your father.”

“I will love no one but—”

“Lele! What you want will never happen. The antang is done; the elders have decided. You will do well to embrace your fate.”
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Ihangyo sa Bulalakaw

Fiction by | June 10, 2012

“Nay, tinuod ba ang gisulti Lola Marta nga sa tiilan nianang bangaw dunay nagtapun-og nga mga bulawan?” pangutana sa unom ka tuig nga si Toto samtang ginahapuhap ang balhiboong iring nga nagpauraray sa iyang paa. Ang misay pod nagparayeg, sige kinig tilap sa kamot sa iyang agalon.

Mihunong kadiyot si Patricia sa iyang pagpanilhig ug gilingi ang anak nga naglingkod sa bangkito simpig sa talamboanan. “Di na tinuod, Dong. Usa ra na ka tumotumo sa mga karaang tawo,” tubag niya.

“Tumutumo ra diay na, Nay? Kanang bulalakaw, Nay, nga mahulog unya mag-wish dayon ko, di pod diay na tinuod?” laing sukit sa anak nga nagtan-aw sa bangaw nga nag-arko sa halapad nga luna sa Sitio San Roque.

“Aw, oo, uy! Kay kon tinuod pa na, Dong, hagbay ra tang nakahilwas sa atong kapit-os ron,” ni Pepay samtang nanglimpiyo sa ilang kosina.

Milingi si Toto kaniya nga mora bag napalaw sa iyang gibutyag. Gialsa niini ang misay ug gibutang sa kilid unya miakbo sa bentana.

“Nganong nangutana ka niana, To?” ni Pepay.

“Kay daghan man unta koy gustong i-wish, Nay…nga unta madato na ta, kanang parehas kasapian ni Japhet og Nato aron mapalitan pod ko nimog mga bag-ong sinina, sapatos ug daghang mga dulaan.”

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Musketeers

Fiction by | May 20, 2012

The night-out we were having was crucial, a reunion of sorts, and it would determine if I’d been a fool or just half a fool to have come back to General Santos City.

My cousin Dondon waved goodbye to our grandmother. “Don’t worry, La,” he said. “We’ll take care of your favorite grandson.”

“You better,” Lola said. “I know Ramil is a good boy, and you two are tonto!”

“La, that’s no fair!” Thirdy, another cousin of mine, complained, smiling at Lola. I’m sure it’s the smile he used to charm the local beauty queens. “We’ve never done anything that tainted the name of the Esguerras.”

Hala,” Lola dismissed us with a wave of her hand, “you kids do whatever you want. You are all old enough.”

Lola closed the opened leaf of the double door, straining a bit in its weight. The large door, made of narra and carved with intricate eagle figures, was a reminder that the big house had once accommodated people who came in droves, when Lolo was still alive and ruling the city as mayor.

Thirdy closed the gate of the family compound. “We thought you’d forgotten Gensan,” he told me. “How long has it been, fifteen years?”

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Grave of Pens

Fiction by | May 6, 2012

We have all your pens. Every single pen that you purchased and lost is now in our possession. The black ones, the blue ones, the red ones, the new ones, the old ones, the empty ones, the ones with bite marks, the ones that you think are in your bag, the ones that are important to you, and the ones that you’ve forgotten. We’ve got them all.

We keep them in a dark room somewhere between nowhere and everywhere. It’s an odd room now that we think about it. It is dimly lit by faint patches of sunlight that would fade from one spot then illuminate in another. The smell of dry ink and rusted pen-points pollutes the air and makes living here a pain. The sounds of pens being stored and sorted reverberate throughout the entire room, giving a rhythmic tick to the place that we find endearing. And there’s an unusual pewter-colored fog that would hover over an empty mahogany stool. All these make up the peculiarity of room. The room where we keep all your pens.

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Fast-break Breakfast

Fiction by | May 6, 2012

“Dino, did you know that there’s some really good toast served in a mysterious island somewhere around Samal? It’s rumored to be the greatest dish of toast ever toasted. One hell of a breakfast!”

“Rex, dude, are you serious? That sounds seriously interesting. The world’s best toast, huh? How do we get there? Is there like a secret boat that will take us there?”

“No. We’ll have to swim.”

“Swim? To Samal? From Davao? Fart yeah! How do we recognize the island though?”

“It breathes fire. I don’t think it’ll be that hard to miss.”

“Should we go now? I mean it is 2 am.”

“No better time than the present, bro.”

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