Category: Fiction

T'nalak

Fiction by | August 24, 2008

Excerpt from a novella

He wished she were wearing the white gown he had brought. How lucky he was, in fact, that Lumela’s family did not ask for a dowry for her. Lumela had asked them not to demand a set of gongs or horses as bridal gifts from Andrew. It was enough for her parents that Andrew agreed that the wedding be done in the traditional T’boli way before their church wedding.

The women were waiting outside the house of Lumela. She was in the house’s central space, covered with a red hand-woven blanket. There were no voices from the women, except the beating of agong.

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His Ear

Fiction by | August 17, 2008

Because his left ear was shaped like that of an enormous punch bowl, my brother could always hear what I said. For instance, he would hit me on the head if I let out a giggle when a good-looking guy passed me by after taking Communion. Only then would I glance down at my cupped palms like a proper girl while my brother gave the cute guy a dirty look.

Contrary to how his classmates had teased him in third grade, he was not delivered breech nor did my father, who was a policeman, pinch his ear frequently. My brother had a big left ear, that’s all. And this ear, would cup every sound like radar. It had no static, it never had a dead air. It was like a portable spy microphone and it always heard what I said.

And only what I said.

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Father's Boots

Fiction by | August 17, 2008

The shoes at the bottom of the stairs are my father’s magical boots. They are black and huge and made of leather. They have shoelaces that go all the way up to a few inches below his knee. Father’s boots belong at the bottom of the stairs and no one was allowed to touch them, move them or place anything beside them. He didn’t mind, though, when Mother placed her pink slippers beside them. Sometimes they sparkled, other times they looked gray. But we were never to touch father’s boots.

Father’s boots were special. Once, I heard Father from the room telling Mother: “Wife, I need my boots so we’ll have money to feed the children and send them to school.” Mother went out the room and told Father that the boots were under the stairs. When he came home we had bread and chicken for dinner, and pencils and notebooks for school. The boots had brought him money indeed!

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His Phantom Pains

Fiction by | August 10, 2008

It was already dusk when he arrived at the gate.

His eyes were immediately riveted to some children playing under the huge Christmas tree. A mango tree that was decorated with Christmas lights stood close to it.

He took out an old cellular phone inside his pocket. No messages. He squared his shoulders and heaved a great sigh. He looked at his own hands, which were already weary from pushing his own wheelchair. He tightened his grip on the wheels even more and turned them slowly forward. No one noticed his arrival when he painstakingly tried to squeeze himself through the main door.

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Collateral

Fiction by | July 27, 2008

The unpaved, dusty dirt road seemed to stretch on forever. We were on our way to Pangutusan to visit the farm because Uncle Jeffrey was eager enough to test his brand-new CRV on rough terrain. So there we were, on a farm road bordered by jungles of trees and corn stalks, heading to nowhere. I listened while Lola, Aunt Len, and Uncle Jeffrey chatted the ride away.

Even back in the poblacion, I was already reluctant to go but Uncle Jeffrey persuaded me to. He told me that I should visit Lola’s farm more often because we, her grandchildren, would be inheriting it later on. Inheriting the farm interested me so I went along.

“It has been such a long time,” grinned Lola, gazing out the window. She had not visited the farm for about a year.

“Have you heard anything about Nong Felipe, Ma? The harvest season was supposed to be last month,” asked Uncle Jeffrey.

“Hay, naku. Nong Felipe stole our share again. I bet he already sold all the durian by now. And the bananas too!” my Aunt Len replied. Continue reading Collateral

Dagmay Legends: Origins of the Dagmay Cloth

Fiction by , , , | July 13, 2008

The Origin of the Dagmay Cloth, The Mariano-Muya clan version as retold by Amelia Muya Anong.

A long time ago, there was a community that was located far away from civilization. The people used the barks or leaves of trees for clothes. They lived in caves or built their houses in the trunks of trees. Their sources of living were hunting and fishing.

One day the Biya (Maiden) was taught by her friend Diwata how to weave bugti, a cloth with no color or design. She used it as her clothes. Then Biya taught other women to weave it for their clothes too. And so they did not use the barks or leaves of plants as their clothes anymore.

One day Tamisa , the brother of Biya, went hunting. While hunting, he found a beautiful piece of Cloth which was being dried under the sun. He stole it and ran home as fast as he could. Thunder, lightning and storm followed him until he reached home, half-dying.

Before he died, he gave the Cloth to his sister, Biya. Through the help of her friend Diwata, the storm, thunder, and lightning calmed down. Diwata told her that the owner of the Cloth was “Mapandig Tagamaling Magsainag ng Kilat” and the name of the beautiful cloth was DAGMAY. Biya wanted to return the Dagmay cloth but the spirit owner refused it because it was already paid for with the life of Tamisa and that it had already been touched by human hands. Thus, Biya got the Dagmay, and when she returned home, she copied the designs through the help of her friend Diwata.

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The Accused

Fiction by | June 29, 2008

The heat was punishing. It was one of those days when the sun seemed especially merciless – the heat seeming to sear one’s skin to the bone and the humid air driving the strongest of men to weariness. In the cramped, cheerless room, the heat was even more intolerable. The sole fan attached to the ceiling provided no relief from the cruel heat; if possible, it seemed only to trap the dense air in the windowless box that served as the factory office.

Across the room, the woman sat stiffly on a padded bench. Her head was slightly bowed, her gaze fixed on an indistinct spot on the gray linoleum floor. The heat was almost suffocating, but she felt cold on the inside, her clammy hands gripping her knees tightly in an effort to steady her rioting nerves. Cold, sticky sweat was trickling down her spine in tiny rivulets and dark crescent stains had begun to form below her armpits. Beads of moisture, too, started to line her brows, and she had to swipe them off with her sleeve every so often to keep them from falling to her eyes.

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Mga Mama ug Mga Papa

Fiction by | June 22, 2008

Nag-away na pud si Anna ug ang iyang Mama, maong sa coffee shop siya nagtambay. Ang hinungdan ang iyang pseudo-stepfather. Nahibal-an man gud ni Anna na magpakasal na sila. Nagdagan-dagan pa sa utok ni Anna ang tubaganay nila sa iyang Mama samtang naga-order siya sa counter, hangtud paglingkod niya sa table dapit sa bintana sa shop.

“He makes me happy! Nganung dili man na nimu makita? Ug nganung dili man na nimu masabtan?”

“Happy? Happy ka na mabawasan imung love para sa akoa tungod sa iyaha?!”

“You know that’s not true anak!”

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