Category: Fiction

In the Meadows (Part 2)

Fiction by | December 27, 2021

The little girl absentmindedly followed the old man 10 feet behind. She had been trailing aged Benjamin since he got out of the house. He walked past the playground and the school while greeting other people, and the girl didn’t seem to have noticed how far they had come.

She watched curiously as he stepped down a meadow of bright and vivid flowers. She was about to follow him there too when a woman embraced her, halting her steps.

“Where have you been, Farrah? I told you to behave, didn’t I?” The mother anxiously looked at her daughter. “Let’s go home now. I won’t allow you to come with me when I go to the store next time!”

The girl was dragged by her mother, and she silently obeyed, but she started spouting questions.

“Who was that grandpa, Mommy?”

The mother turned back to see Benjamin setting down the blanket nicely and cozily. She felt empathy for a moment for the old man. “That’s Sir Benjamin, sweetie. He and his wife used to go there often when she was still alive.”

“But where is she now, Mommy?”

Her mother shifted her gaze towards her and remembered her daughter’s fault. While the noise of the mother’s warnings was vaguely heard in the meadow, Benjamin chuckled at the sound of it. He positioned himself carefully while dragging his pencil to the roughly textured paper. He hummed along with the birds near him and the gentle blow of the midday gust while chomping on his sandwich. It had taken Benjamin long, wretched years to recover from Jennifer’s death, and he was still in the process—but the process was worthwhile. The neighborhood encouraged his progression and complimented him every once in a while for emotional support.

Benjamin was recalling a certain memory of his lovely wife while drawing. He remembered how calm and undisturbed the late noon had been when they met there in the meadow. Jennifer with her splendor and grace, greeting him lovingly—and Benjamin remembering the memories they spent together in the flowery field.

Old Benjamin was thinking out loud when he was finishing up. “Jennifer was always fragrant,” he told himself, “like angel’s trumpets.”

He put the pencil down and mutely scanned his sketch. He praised himself for not losing his touch in the hobby he had almost abandoned in his depression. He loved the way he drew the details of Jennifer’s face and the precise expression it showed despite not having a reference.

Benjamin’s lips moved to a genuine smile. He pecked a kiss on the face of a dreadful, horrified Jennifer—an emotion he hadn’t seen for a long time. Benjamin patted the ground he sat on, Jennifer’s favorite spot, and said, “You were always perfect, dear, but it does scare me often, you know?”

Jennifer always wants everything to look the best.

Lexi Eve L. Bacala lives in Davao City. She is a Grade 12 HUMSS student at Daniel R. Aguinaldo National High School.

In the Meadows (Part 1)

Fiction by | December 20, 2021

Jennifer was always the brightest kid in the class.

That’s what the five-year-old Benjamin thought as he watched the little girl recite the declamation piece she performed at a school event. He was sharp enough to spot her flawless and dramatic expressions despite her tiny, pretty voice. The whole class applauded Jennifer after her performance, and she quietly made her way to her chair beside Benjamin.

“You were amazing as always, Jenny!” Benjamin praised her amid their classmates’ cheers.

Little Jenny smiled widely, although shyly too, and thanked the class. Benjamin noticed her mannerism of pulling her rosy-tipped fingers over her lap whenever she got praised. He thought it was cute.

Jennifer was always good with words.

Teary-eyed Benjamin watched the eight-year-old girl defend him from bullies. While he sat over the sandbox, crestfallen for the trampled plants in the playground, Jennifer was telling them about how their parents would react if they realized that their children were bullying other kids. The bullies walked away in shame while she helped him back to his feet. His senses became slightly foggy and he couldn’t make out what his friend was saying, but he nodded and nodded until he felt that Jennifer was relieved. Until he recovered from his snuffles, Jennifer held his hand with her plump little palm and took him home. Benjamin remembered how soft and fair her skin was from the glow of the streetlights and stray lights from the houses they passed by. He thought it was comfortable.

Jennifer always wants everything to look the best.

Basking at high noon over the shadeless meadow filled with flowers, Benjamin sat over a blanket with Jennifer. He brought the sketchpad he received from his mother for his 14th birthday and started drawing nice-looking plants while Jennifer took a basket of crafting supplies and was on another attempt to make a crown made of flowers.

“Don’t you feel hot? You can go sit under that tree to cool yourself first before resuming that.” He pointed at a tree close to the blooming angel’s trumpets.

Overly focused on her work, she replied, “I do, but the flowers in this spot are more beautiful than the rest, so I have to do it here.” She whispered, “I’ve been familiarizing the field every time we visit here, so I know the best and not-best places.”

He took one of her flower crowns and observed it peacefully. “I think this is beautiful already.” He looked at her other creations. “You can give those to the little kids in the neighborhood if you’re planning to throw it. They’re all almost perfect.”

She sighed and looked him in the eye. “I wish you would stop saying they’re perfect when they’re not.” She then chuckled like a little kid.

Nodding, he mumbled, “Alright, if you say so.”

After a few more attempts, Jennifer seized her basket and stomped to the nearest tree from them, and Benjamin continued drawing until it was almost sundown. He collected his stuff and marched towards the tree, where he found her asleep next to it. The eventide’s breeze serenely breathed as he watched how the last beams of sunlight poured between the leaves to radiate Jennifer’s beauty. Benjamin’s memories of severed flowers from when he walked to her spot suddenly vanished because of the pleasant sight. He thought it was heavenly.

Jennifer was always perfect-looking despite her faults.

Benjamin looked at Jennifer’s tensed expression while she glared at her laptop. Her eyes never left the screen since the minute she was told that the result of her bar exam was out. He observed every twitching vein in her skinny wrist and uptight positions she did whenever any of her limbs fell asleep.

After taking his eyes off her for a moment, he heard her squealing and yelling at the top of her lungs. He checked her laptop screen to find Jennifer’s name on the list of passers. He jumped towards her while trying to congratulate her, but only stopped trying when she started moving in frenzied movements he couldn’t figure out.

“What are you doing now?” Benjamin asked amusingly with an awkward smile plastered on his face.

Jennifer continued flailing about. “I’m dancing, duh!” she screamed proudly.

He only laughed at her hilarious definition of dancing. He kept glancing at her, wondering if she would ever stop, but he cackled more loudly in every attempt to take a glimpse. He thought she was amazing.

Jennifer was always the best.

Benjamin gazed at his lovely wife while she laughed at the memories she recalled from when they were young. She smiled as she fetched a basket from the dining table. He remembered that she’d said she would buy groceries in the morning. She gave him a peck on the cheek and a greeting before she left, and he returned the greeting before he closed the door.

That dewy morning was filled with hearty waves of laughter and fuzzy recollections of two lovers, like dandelions being flown and carried by daylight’s wind through the past rain and future storms. That afternoon, Jennifer seemed to find peculiar materials again and have gone somewhere deeper in the store—as she had not gone home. That woeful evening delivered a hurricane that devastated Benjamin’s sturdy walls, which had taken him four decades to build.

Benjamin lived in sorrow for months. He wouldn’t eat until the neighbors pleaded on bended knees. He wouldn’t rest one bit until the men in the neighborhood carried him to bed. The thought of Jennifer unfound kept getting worse for Benjamin by the day, and the people were worried for him.

One day, the house was lighted for Benjamin, but his vision showed him dimly lit rooms and lonely spaces. His legs failed him, and he sat on the floor helplessly. The house was neither quiet nor loud that morning—it was weeping.

It wept for the lifeless atmosphere fogging inside; it wept for the dull loneliness Benjamin had bottled up during the barren wake; it wept for the dead radiance Jennifer had left in the picture frames. Their home had never looked so forlorn.

Lexi Eve L. Bacala lives in Davao City. She is a Grade 12 HUMSS student at Daniel R. Aguinaldo National High School.

Labasero (Part 2)

Fiction by | November 1, 2021

Ever since Niko could recall, Tacloban Public Market was free of rent. City Hall said it was their way of providing relief to the poor but when COVID hit, every vendor was asked for BIR permits and tax payment receipts. The Mayor said it was one of the ways for the city to afford vaccines and maintain economic stability, especially after Yolanda. Niko thought of many ways how to evade the requirements. If only it weren’t for the newly imposed requirements, perhaps concealing his Mama’s condition would have been easier. Luckily, the Barangay Capitan or Mano Rey to many, accepted their freshly caught rumpi that week and agreed to extend their dues. But it bothered Niko that, his Papa decided not to reveal what was really going on with his Mama, not even to Mano Rey.

Niko knew the Capitan ever since he could remember. His Papa and the Capitan went way back. They used to be employees at Sam’s Trading in their youth. When the grocery had to let go of some of its employees, Mano Boy was among them. The Capitan remained since he had the favor of the owners. Mano Rey would always buy from the fish stall and talked with Niko ever since he was a kid. Mana Joaquina did not seem to mind whenever Mano Rey stayed near the stall just to finish a cigarette. But when Niko was about thirteen years old, Mano Rey kept his distance. Perhaps it was because of the work he had in the barangay office.

 

The morning after Niko went fishing, just as he was docking the family motorboat and securing the stability of the plank that he would balance on to unload his freshly caught maya-maya, Niko noticed his Papa loading their tricycle. He could hear the thumps and clanks of aluminum basins against plastic buckets and knives being tossed onto the cargo bed. The sound stood out to him amidst the symphonic isdaaaa! shouting and seafood staccato chopping from Tacloban Wet Market.

“Rent, anak” hi Papa said, tossing another stack of plastic buckets unto the cargo bed. “Pota! we didn’t pay rent daw.”

“But didn’t we give Cap our first catch last week. Didn’t he delay our dues?” Niko argued.
“Capitan must have heard about Joaquina! Rey must’ve tipped us off.”

Niko secured the knots of the motorboat and rushed to their stall with Papa. When they arrived the new stall vendors were already setting up. The barangay tanods and the police took down their signage and were checking if Mano Boy left any of their equipment or tools.

“Oy yawa! Why are you kicking us out?” Niko shouted.
“Cap told us to take it down. City Hall orders.” The chief tanod said as he held his baston with an eagerness to give it a swing at Niko.
“Take it up to City Hall, boy. We’re just doing our job,” the tanod mumbled.
“Yawa, job? When has robbing our life been a job?” Niko’s ftaher clenched his fists, thought of the taunt from the authorities, of his wife, and just when he was about to throw a blow, Niko held him off.
“Hey Mano Boy,” Berta signaled; her head shaking. “We care for Joaquina but we gotta think of us too.”
“It’s protocol. You might’ve got tracked too,” Inday said. “Cap already knows.”

It dawned on Niko how everyone knew about his Mama. He and his father became aware of the
stares and the taunts. Niko even spotted someone with a phone from a couple of meters away who was trying to capture the scene. He winced at the stares, noticed the eye rolling. He held his Papa by the shoulder, calming him down until he slowly let go of his clenched fist.

“We’ll get ‘em, Pa. Promise. They’ll get theirs.”

Niko and Mano Boy knew their best chance at taking back their fish stall was through the Capitan. Barangay Hall was just around the corner of Tacloban Wet Market. Mano Boy instructed Niko to get a bucket of rumpi while he parked the tricycle near the Barangay Hall and secured the knives that could easily be taken out from the rear compartment. Everyone else was on lunch break at the nearby karenderya except for the Capitan who busied himself with counting blue bills. Ash scattered over the cash from the cigarette between his fingers and dirtied the money. Dirty money, perhaps from the many like his family whom the barangay decided to kick out, Niko thought.

“Pareng Boy, I expected to see you today. So sorry to hear about Joaquina’s fish stall,” the Capitan said taking a puff out of his cigarette and continuing the count of his blue bills. “Sayang, I can’t get any more of her rumpi.”

“They told us it was your instructions,” Mano Boy asserted.

“Not mine old friend.” the Capitan still refusing to remove his attention from the blue bills, “City Hall’s.”

“Well, what about the rumpi we got you last week, the freshly caught ones, Rey? Didn’t you—”

“They’re right here,” The Capitan interrupted, rubbing his belly. “Joaquina sure knows fish, she sure knows how to satisfy an appetite. You got lucky with that one, Boy. Heard she wasn’t in the stall these past weeks? How is she?”

“Didn’t you do something to delay our dues, Cap?” Niko asked.

“You sure taught this son of yours some manners, ey?” The Capitan took another puff out of his cigarette.

“I cleared this last week, you’re supposed to delay our dues, Rey.”

“Boy, Boy, Boy. It’s City Hall orders. No one can’t do anything about it. Besides, did you honestly think you could bribe me with a bucket of rumpi? And what’s that ey, another bribe? Look around you. Look around this wretched public market. I can get all the food I want. In this city the only way up is through this,” the Capitan flicked a bundle of cash.

“Why do you think I got here? It was through them generous people. Unless you got cash, we can’t do nothing.”

“Look what you’ve turned into, Rey. You were just like us folks once: poor. Some sense of self-righteousness got you too good to help folks like us in need?”

“That’s a whole load of crap coming from you, old friend. Maybe the loss of your fish stall will teach you not to cover up your wife’s diagnosis. You’ve endangered the other vendors, ever thought of that? You deserve this loss.”

Niko dropped the bucket of rumpi from his grip, clenched a fist the same way his Papa did earlier that morning, thought of the authorities, the taunt, and what the Capitan said. All the things that happened in the past month culminated in Niko’s fist and just as when Niko was about to throw a blow, Mano Boy took out one of their fish knives from his pocket; lashed it through the Capitan’s throat and covered his mouth, making sure to silence him. The agony in the Capitan’s eyes was just like the agony clear from fish eyes when they were caught: unable to breathe, gasping for air, aware life was slowly being taken from them. It was just like how his wife taught him. Mano Boy perfected a gutting.

“You’re just like ‘em police who try to rob us of our lives, Rey.” Mano Boy said, looking at the gutted neck of his old friend. “Take the cash!” Mano Boy instructed, dragging the Capitan’s body away from sight. “Take your Mama to Jaro, you’ll be safe there. Go!”

Niko did just as his father instructed. His hands trembled as he steered their tricycle. He took a route entering the edge of Anibong. As he was driving past the fruit stalls and vegetable stands, Niko felt a bruise forming on his right calf, probably from the vicious kick-start.

“Papa, shouldn’t have done that.” Niko whispered to himself. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

When he crossed the Anibong bridge, Niko almost lost control as he encountered a bump, luckily he steered to a steady speed just before reaching the curve of Anibong. When he stopped, Niko noticed how some passengers in a multicab covered their noses over their face masks and stared at him. Even with double face masks they could still smell the fish from his tricycle.

The passenger at the end of the multicab wore EVSU P.E. pants. Niko, unbothered by squealing pigs tied to backs of PUVs and endless honking, stared at it until the multicab faded from view.

Niko knew they could never understand the smell of suffering. Niko kick-started the tricycle, didn’t look back and rode away, away from the market.

Lakan Uhay Alegre is a member of UP Writers Club. He has performed his poems in the Philippines and New York. Some of his works have been included in Lunop, voices and narratives of typhoon Yolanda, Dagmay, the Literary Journal of the Davao Writers Guild, and Katitikan Literary Journal of the Philippine South. Currently, he is a BA Comparative Literature student majoring in Philippine English Literature and English Translation in UP Diliman, where he continues writing despite struggling with his readings.

Labasero (Part 1)

Fiction by | October 25, 2021

The day Niko’s Mama got COVID, City Hall announced that they needed to secure BIR permits and city health certificates to maintain their fish stalls. Niko had just come back from fishing, his face mask soaked in sweat, carrying buckets of rumpi to their fish stall. His Papa, Mano Boy, had already chopped portions of blue marlin, ready to be sold by the kilo. Maya-maya and mangagat, which were more plush than other fish, hung on hooks at the edge of the stall to attract customers. Niko and Mano Boy tried to act less conspicuously despite the many suspicious looks from their neighboring fish vendors.

“Ay, those are big rumpi, Niko,” Mana Berta, the neighboring fish vendor remarked. “Shouldn’t display all ‘em at once though. Joaquina always left some to be displayed in the afternoon.”

“My boy sure knows where to fish this time of season, Berta,” Mano Boy replied, patting Niko by the shoulder. “Sure knows where ‘em big ones swim even where there no moon.”

“Niko is the smartest fisherman we folks have, Boy. No doubt about it. He fish at night and always come home. Not everyone here lucky like ‘em.”

“Heard that son? You is the smartest fisherman,” Mano Boy nodded to his son. “Go get ‘em rumpi stored at the back just like Berta say. Your Mama shouldn’t worry about us when she got chickens to tend to, right?”

Niko got his Papa’s message. They couldn’t let anyone know his Mama got COVID. It would cause a commotion. Prejudice would shadow Tacloban Wet Market, fusing with the fishy stink and pollution. It was the first time Mana Joaquina was not tending to sales ever since they got the fish stall. Niko and Mano Boy knew that Mana Berta and the other vendors were eyeballing them. They knew if the neighboring vendors knew about Mana Joaquina’s condition, it would spread immediately like wildfire. They couldn’t afford to be the talk of the town, especially when they were still behind new dues and paper works imposed by the city.

“Chickens? Thought you folks were always into fishing?” Inday, Mana Berta’s niece wondered.

“Well, Mama thought it would best,” Niko replied, carrying some of the rumpi to the back of the stall. “Besides, don’t we need to find new ways of making a living? These new city ordinances gonna put us in debt, you know.”

“Well, what can folks like us do about it?” Mana Berta said, sprinkling a bit of water over the fish on display in her own stall.

“We just gotta live with it,” Mano Boy asserted, hammering the knife to cut through the bone of a blue marlin. “We just gotta mind us business and stay away from trouble. No good come from minding them other’s business.”

“Well, we better be careful, Boy.”

A week after, Niko and his buddies took the family motorboat and docked along San Juanico Strait, a few nautical miles off Cancabato Bay. The amihan breeze felt cool upon Niko’s skin. There was no moon in sight. Niko knew the fish hid farther beneath the strait. He took out his fishing rod made from bamboo, tied more nylon string to lengthen it, and coiled some dried fat to the end of the hook before throwing it to water.

Niko waited for his rod to jerk so he could reel it up while enjoying a cigarette. He stayed at the stern of the motorboat, his favorite spot where he could look at Tacloban City from afar, away from the noise, but close enough to examine the details of the city. Niko’s point of reference in memorizing the urban map from the sea was the Santo Niño Church. The church’s towering white belfry always stood out even if it was in the middle of downtown. Astrodome, the big dome by the bay that collapsed during Yolanda, was reconstructed and a new park was built around its perimeter. Niko could easily spot it. It was his landmark, a sign he was looking south.

 

Niko enjoyed studying his city. His professors from EVSU always said his urban planning designs were avant-garde. One time, Prof. Borromeo gave him a 1.0 for constructing a renewed urban plan of Tacloban Public Market. Niko examined which areas consumers visited first when doing their weekly produce. He made it his basis for minimizing traffic, solving the sanitation problem, and lessening congestion. Niko knew all the shortcuts, reroutes, and turns. How could he not? He grew up there. In high school, Mano Boy would fetch Niko from school so he would go straight to their fish stall after classes to help out. On weekends, Mano Boy would take Niko along with him in his tricycle to tour the city. Niko rode at the back of the tricycle with his Papa.

When traffic began to herald the city, Mano Boy knew which turn to take or which detour to make. Sometimes, when they had a bit of time to kill, Mano Boy took Niko with his compadres to fish. One of whom was Rey, the current Barangay Capitan of the market. Mana Joaquina never joined any of their trips, she was always busy selling their catch at the stall. Their blue marlins, rumpi, mangagat, and maya-maya always had sold out. But even when sales were high, it was always just enough to pay for the hired help, business maintenance, and household expenses.

 

Time seemed long at sea when Niko had no catch. Hours had passed but he only caught one maya-maya. His fishing rod did not jerk for hours. Perhaps it was the time of night, Niko thought. There were no stars in the sky either. Niko remained in his laid-back position and stared blankly at the city and the sky.

“You okay there, Niks?” Buboy, his fishing buddy asked.

“Just that BIR and paper works, p’re,” Niko replied, getting up from his reclined position. “Worried ‘bout Mama too, not really sure how she’ll be good with selling poultry.”

“Well, she got you and Mano Boy, p’re. Am sure your Papa’ll figure it out. Remember how he convinced that old dying grandma to lend him money some years back?”

“He never paid that off, you know.”

“Why would he? The old bitch died a week after he borrowed!” Buboy laughed. “No one owe nothing to the dead, pare, no one.”

“You’re such an ass, you know,” Niko said in response, worried about his Mama’s condition.

“And that BIR shit?” his fishing buddy continued. “That’ll just subside in a few weeks. Remember how they wanted people out of Anibong after Yolanda? Well, look.”

Buboy pointed at the light in Anibong. “They’re still there, City Hall can’t do nothing about it. City Hall can’t do nothing about us.”

Niko was busy looking at the distant light Buboy was pointing to when he noticed that Buboy had raised his voice.

“City Hall doesn’t do anything. That’s the problem, pare. Remember that landslide in Quarry? The one where some girl from Leyte High and her Mom died. That shit went viral.”

“Heard the Mom was a barangay official. What about it?” Niko tried to brush any thought of death and his mother.

“City Hall didn’t do anything about it. All they did was give money to the sister. Look at what’s happened to that site. Nothing.” Buboy heaved a deep sigh.

“What’s your point, pare?”

“That part of Quarry was dynamite bombed. Years ago, even before we were born. For one, Niks, they don’t have any place to put squatters anywhere. But more than anything it’s business, pare. Business. It’s all about that. We all know, folks like us can’t do anything about it unless we become some big shots.”

 

Niko always thought someday he would make living conditions better for vendors like his Mama. Not only would his degree program improve the situation for poor folks like him, but it would also help their family. It was a shame he had to drop out in the middle of his college sophomore year due to the pandemic.

Many unfortunate things had happened in the past month. Aside from his secondhand laptop breaking down, the situation worsened because the family no longer had money to maintain internet expenses which EVSU required of their students. The fishing business was his hope of a better life so when Mana Joaquina was diagnosed positive, they decided not to report it to their barangay. They knew if no one tended to the fishing business, they wouldn’t be able to comply with the new requirements and pay off rent. At this rate, Niko thought, being a big shot is a far reality for him or his family.

Lakan Uhay Alegre is a member of UP Writers Club. He has performed his poems in the Philippines and New York. Some of his works have been included in Lunop, voices and narratives of typhoon Yolanda, Dagmay, the Literary Journal of the Davao Writers Guild, and Katitikan Literary Journal of the Philippine South. Currently, he is a BA Comparative Literature student majoring in Philippine English Literature and English Translation in UP Diliman, where he continues writing despite struggling with his readings.

The Rice Cooker Crawl

Fiction by | July 26, 2021

Francis started the day with a busted rice cooker. It was half past noon when the youth woke up to a grumbling stomach. They spent the last three nights transcribing a thousand-paged medical reference for an online client and finally sent the copy at sunrise. Then, they had the tacky fairytale-esque write up for Nortia’s website that they didn’t bother checking.

The rice was washed, refilled with water, and ready to cook. But as soon as Francis plugged the appliance in the nearby socket above the tiny countertop, it sent sparks flying. They backed away with a shriek, hands close to their chest.

“No way,” they croaked. Taking cautious steps to the outlet, they gingerly attempted to unplug the cooker but it decided to startle them with more sparks and wisps of smoke. More shrieking and backing away. There was a rapid knocking from a wall.

“Hoy! May natutulog dito!” an irritated neighbor grumbled. “Sorry!” Francis squeaked. They groped around the drawers across the kitchen for old thick towels. With towels wrapped around their hands, they pried the plug off the socket. They took a closer look. The exposed wires were singed, its cover warped. An acrid odor of burnt plastic hit their nostrils. Francis coughed while they put the offending object away.

“Should I get a new rice cooker at this hour?” they thought aloud. There were three options. One, they could give Auntie Faye a ring and tell her about the rice cooker. However, they could hear what she’d probably say.

“Anak, you should learn to cook rice with a pot on the stove.”

However, the apartment they lived in didn’t allow stovetops, not even the butane-fueled ones because the landlord despised possible fire hazards. Also, they were embarrassingly bad at keeping tabs on whatever they cooked. They literally learned to cook a few basics with the rice cooker like boiled eggs, instant noodles, and the occasional rice porridge and hotdogs. The appliance was one of the few things they brought with them when they moved out of their aunt’s home in Cuambogan to an apartment in Purok Narra, Briz District which is closer to the city center.

The second choice was to buy some food from a nearby carinderia. But the portions were too little for the price they usually paid and most dishes were sold out after lunch.

Or third, they could simply buy a new one. Most malls sold rice cookers for one person for less than seven hundred pesos. They hadn’t bought anything other than groceries for the last two weeks. The paycheck from the online job was on its way before 3 p.m.

Maybe they could make it.

 

In a flurry of bathing and getting dressed, Francis stepped out of the apartment gate in a baggy shirt and cargo shorts wider than their legs. Damp hair was stuffed inside a baseball cap and they were ready to go. Hailing a tricycle ride nowadays was an exercise of haggling.

“’Nong, JS Gaisano! Bale kinse!” they hollered at the first empty tricycle. The driver rapidly shook his head at the fare offer of Php15 and sped away. Another tricycle, with a passenger seated in front, stopped where Francis raised an arm out. They repeated their directions.

“Singkwenta.” Driver number two haggled.

“No way!”

Driver number two drove past Francis.  “Fuck you,” they hissed. “Just because you lot got a taste of their payouts.”

The sudden burst of wealth in the city left a bad taste in their mouth. Sure, they had days where customers bought out an entire day’s supply of puto maya and sikwate before the 5 p.m. blaring alarm from the old City Hall on Rizal Street. But it also meant dealing with inconsolable customers who demanded to be served despite their repeated explaining that they had just sold out and were about to close the shop.

“What’s the point of opening a store if you can’t serve the customers?” Shrieking Old Lady demanded. It took Auntie Faye flashing her deathly glare and a firm, “We’re closed” before the former harrumphed her way out of the store.

A motorcycle stopped in front of a frowning Francis. “Where are you heading?” the driver asked. “JS Gaisano, fifteen pesos,” they drawled.

“Baynte,” he haggled. Francis groaned and all but threw the twenty-peso bill on the driver’s awaiting palm before they rode off to the shopping center. As soon as they hopped off the motorbike, they made a beeline to the appliances area of the one-floor mall. Fewer people shopped there, with its bigger and more sophisticated counterpart existing across the highway. But to their surprise, the section for rice cookers were empty.

“Kuya?” Francis called the salesclerk arranging boxes of glassware across the rice cooker section. “Do you still have any rice cookers left?” they asked when they got the person’s attention. “Sorry Ma’am/Sir, we just sold the last fifty units last night,” The young man apologized while Francis’s jaw dropped.

“Who bought them?” Francis demanded.

“Some businessman. Presents for his employees, he said.” The salesclerk squeaked. “Ahh, you might want to visit other stores,” he continued, making himself small before the livid customer. “Oh, I will.” Francis muttered as they stomped out of the store.

Francis’s next stop was Gaisano Mall of Tagum (GMall for short), begrudgingly paying fifty pesos for a rush trip. There was no way a humongous place would not have a simple rice cooker. While riding the escalator, they eavesdropped on a gaggle of eager middle-aged women in front of them.

“Mare, Nortia just gave me my first payout.” Loud Lady announced to her crew. She relished the sounds of friends wanting a treat or three from her. “Rice cooker or whatever, I’ll buy it for you!” She boomed. How Francis wanted to be one of that lady’s friend just for the damned appliance.

“Sorry, Ma’am/Sir. We ran out of them right after Nortia’s monthly payout last night,” Salesclerk number three bowed to Francis. The gnawing hunger in their stomach and the added stress of not being able to buy a stupid rice cooker soured their mood by the minute. They stormed out of the appliance store and passed by the crowded food court on the 3rdfloor. There were no empty seats. And in almost every table, they saw a person in black collared shirt with an olive tree embroidered on their chest. Nortia’s company logo. To them, it looked like squiggles and a waste of thread.

A hand landed on their shoulder and Francis all but jolted. “Ma’am, do you want to hear today’s gospel?” Random Nortia agent asked in a saccharine tone. The other person shoved them out of the way and turned to another direction.

“What? Gospel about how to swindle money? No, thank you!” Francis hissed under their breath, arms protectively braced over their chest.

 

As soon as Francis stepped out of GMall, they opted to walk to Gaisano Grand Mall. The roads were dusty and the vehicles were loud but they only cared for one thing: to get their hands on a rice cooker today or die trying.

Gaisano Grand Mall was not as grand as the name made it out to be with most of the stalls closed down and replaced by displays of their wares. They went up to the third floor of the department store. And from meters away, Francis could see a modestly sized rice cooker sitting atop a shelf. They speed walked towards the good and asked the salesclerk in the aisle.

“Can I have this tested before paying?” Francis all but bounced in their place. “Sorry, but that’s reserved.” Salesclerk number five spoke. “I’m buying that because I just got my first payout from Nortia.” Francis’s face fell. Body in autopilot, they left the store in a daze.

It was past three p.m. The client from before decided to send an untimely message over their phone.

To: Francesca Rico
Subj: Paycheck

Greetings Mrs. Rico!
We’re sorry if we cannot send you your paycheck because we had some issues to resolve before we could get to your mail. We might be able to deliver your payment within two or three days.

More power and Godspeed!

Nancy Hidalgo
HILAS Corp.

 

Francis hastily stuffed the phone in the front pocket of the shorts. With a deep inhale, they bellowed, “Putang-ina, I just want to eat!” Unbothered by the passersby glancing at them, their gaze was trained on the 7-Eleven across the street. Of course. They could approach him.

“Oh, Sir Pat’s on leave. He said he had things to sort out at home,” Connie answered when they asked about Patrick Ruiz’s whereabouts. “Is he in Kapalong?” Connie shook her head. “He’s probably in J Village. I can give you his phone number if you want,” she offered.

“It’s okay, I already have it.” Francis quipped. Connie excused herself to clean the tables, clearing them of trash and wiping them. Phone in hand and with Patrick’s number onscreen, they shot a quick text.

To: Business Geek

It’s Frankie. Mind if I crash ur place? Gutom na kaayo.

Patrick replied with “Okay.” With the last hundred-peso bill in hand, Francis hailed a tricycle to J Village. “Twenty pesos ‘kol.” The driver’s beady eyes were on the purple bill in Francis’s fist before he reluctantly let the other person ride. The drive going to Patrick’s house was slow with the traffic. Hunger threatened to rip a hole in their stomach.

Francis was in front of the peeling black gate when Patrick, dressed in a blue shirt and grey shorts, greeted them. They all but tackled the man, babbling a mix of “My savior” and “God, I’m starving.” Patrick caught them in a hold and tried not to laugh when Francis began to retell their crazed day, letting them be ushered inside.

“And the damn plug just had to do a mini fireworks show in my apartment!” they groaned. “You could’ve learned to cook with a pot on the stove.” Patrick replied while he scooped a generous bit of steamed rice in a bowl and ignored Francis’s glare. “Landlord won’t let us use stoves but he has one in his home. Hypocrite.” They pouted. But as soon as Patrick laid the food, a bit of squid adobo and hot steamed rice in front of Francis, they all but attacked the meal. He fixed himself a cup of coffee while he watched the other polish the food off their bowls and plate.

At last, Francis finished eating. “That was good, Pat. Thanks a lot.” Patrick ran a nervous hand on the back of his head. “It was my first time cooking that dish so I’m glad you liked it,” he stammered. The other snickered.

“So about that rice cooker thing, I happen to have an old one lying around,” Patrick continued. Francis listened raptly. “I haven’t used it for a few weeks since I have to get a bigger one, now that Enzo’s staying here. It’s still good though.”

“Do you mean…”

“Yeah, you can have it if you want.”

“How much?” Francis began to pull out the last bits of their allowance from the pocket. “No need to pay. You need it more than I do.” Patrick affirmed.

“You’re serious,” Francis deadpanned. The other nodded as he tried to find the rice cooker from the kitchen cabinets. Minutes later, he handed the small and well-used appliance to Francis.

“Guess I should leave? It’s your day off.” Francis mumbled as they headed to the door. “I could use a movie buddy for a few hours. Join me?” Patrick asked.

Francis placed the unexpected gift on the dining table, sitting beside Patrick to watch Shake, Rattle, and Roll.

Sarika Rey completed her BA English-Creative Writing degree in the University of the Philippines Mindanao.

Sonny 2 Needs a Heart

Fiction by | July 5, 2021

SV2 – Log 1

 Today I started building Sonny 2.

I decided to call it Sonny because Tatay’s name is Sonny. It is 2 because Tatay is 1. Nanay told me that it’s inappropriate to name a toy after my father, and I don’t know how to tell her that it is not a toy.

Anyway, I didn’t sleep much last night thinking of what it should look like. I kept drawing and drawing until the bumps on my fingers started to look like little mountains.

I would like to write more but as I said, my hand hurts and if I continue, this will be unreadable.

Here’s what Sonny 2 looks like: he has a wig to protect his head from bumps, his body is an oven, tv, and washing machine to help Mama, and he has rocket boots to carry me and help me see Papa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SV2 – Log 2

            Tatay called us today, so I was again inspired to work on Sonny 2. I thought of Tatay’s voice a lot. He sounded big and strong. He could reach the moon and crush it in his palm like a nut. Sonny 2 will be the same.

            I thought of how to build Sonny 2’s arms and legs. I have to go to Manong Alonso’s motor repair shop to see if he has the materials I need. If not, I will have to find some wood and rebars and pipes and old bowls (for the shoulders and kneecaps) myself.

            I don’t really know where Tatay is. He says that’s the point. He’s a seafarer, after all. His trips last about a year usually, but sometimes it’s more.  He could be anywhere in the world right now. Whenever I ask him, he answers with a different place. He was in France. He was in England. He was in America. He was in some other places I don’t remember.       

Sonny 2’s new target completion time: When Tatay comes home.

 

SV2 – Log 3

            I went to Manong Alonso’s place today. He said he couldn’t give me any of the materials I needed for free. The prices were too much! I tried to negotiate and he said that the best he could do was around 500 pesos. I’ve never even seen that much money!

I asked Nanay if she could help me with the money but she said that we didn’t have any because school is about to start. I told her that I didn’t need to go to school this year and she got really really mad. I said I was sorry. I didn’t know how important Grade 5 was to her and I felt bad.

Tomorrow, I will rummage through the neighbors’ garbage to see if there’s anything I can use.

SV2 – Log 4

            My cousin Biboy visited me today. I showed him my plans for Sonny 2, and he said it was impossible to make. I punched him in the stomach and I cried because he cried.

            During dinner time, I thought of Sonny 2’s head. I thought of how he could think. How smart should Sonny 2 be? Surely not as smart as me. Sonny 2 is tall, so it might hurt if he bumps into the branches of trees.

            Note 1: Make Sonny 2’s head as hard as can be.

            Note 2: Don’t punch Biboy again because he is your friend and he was really hurt.

 

SV2 – Log 5

            Today is my birthday and Nanay cooked me spaghetti when she came home from work. She sells vegetables and fruits at the market. I invited Biboy because  he already forgave me for punching him the other day. Friends may fight with each other, but in the end, they will share a bowl of spaghetti.

            Today I worked on Sonny 2’s stomach. My biggest problem was this: I knew how inconvenient it would be if he had to pee, but I wanted him to still be able to eat delicious things.

            I spent the rest of the day thinking of what to do.

            Note: Teach Sonny 2 how to cook so that Nanay wouldn’t have to work as much.

 

SV2 – Log 6

            It is Tatay’s birthday today. I borrowed Nanay’s phone to call him. I was sad that I didn’t have any gifts for him so I showed him my drawings of Sonny 2. He laughed so much. I think he really liked it. He said that he can’t wait to come home to play with Sonny 2 and me.

            Here’s another problem: Sonny 2 needed a heart. With it, Sonny 2 can move wherever he likes. He can love whoever he wants. Tatay once bought me a book called The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and the Tin Man also needed a heart. I thought of making a silk-and-sawdust heart, but I didn’t want to lie to Sonny 2. He needed a real heart.

            Note: Find a heart for Sonny 2.

 

SV2 – Log 7

            Note: Find a heart for Sonny 2.

 

SV2 – Log 8

            It’s been a month since I worked on Sonny 2. I didn’t know where to find a heart. I was afraid that I was wasting my time.

 

SV2 – Log 9

            Today Tatay called again and said he won’t be able to come home this year. Nanay said that Tatay had to work so that I could go to school. That’s okay. I haven’t found a heart for Sonny 2 yet, anyway.

            That’s okay.

 

SV2 – Log 10

            Last night I dreamt that I was Sonny 2’s heart.

            It was hot inside his chest but it wasn’t hot enough so that I would burn. I was so happy that Sonny 2 could finally move. We went to France. We went to England. We went to some other places I don’t remember. I met Tatay and he rode Sonny 2’s back. I was so glad to see him be able to rest.

            When I woke up, I cried because it wasn’t true at all.

            Still, I will continue working on Sonny 2 until Tatay comes home. I asked Biboy and Nanay to help me and they agreed. Friends and mothers are great like that.

            Note: I am Sonny 2’s heart.

***

Ivan Khenard Acero studies creative writing in the University of the Philippines Mindanao. He has been a fellow to the Davao Writers Workshop and the Amelia Lapeña Bonifacio Writers Workshop. An animated version of this story can be viewed here.

Buhay Frontliner

Fiction by | June 14, 2021

The night was silent. Dead. Sad. Only the echo of Mang Kaloy’s tired footsteps could be heard as he was walking down the narrow alley leading to their house. But it wasn’t a house. It was a space – one as small as a room put together by wood planks for a bit of “privacy”. It wasn’t enough for one person let alone two more. His wife and child were sleeping peacefully, sharing one pillow on an almost worn-out mattress stolen from a nearby dumpsite of a high-end subdivision. Judging from the loudness of their snores, it was evident they didn’t care. Or perhaps they were just used to it.

Mang Kaloy’s weary body yearned to just lay down and sleep beside his wife but he knows he can’t. Not yet. He still needed to take a bath and disinfect his body from walking around so as to not compromise his family’s health. From the hospital, he had to walk about 4 kilometers for a free shuttle that stops 15 minutes away from where he lives.

As he was taking a bath in the communal bathroom, he remembered the pale face of the last patient he had to bring down to the morgue. She died with her eyes wide open gasping for breath. Even if the doctors closed her eyes not that long after declaring the time of death, her face was still etched in Mang Kaloy’s mind. The way her pupils dilate, staring into nothing but something at the same time. The way she released her last breath as if releasing the last trace of life from her body. It was the 14th death that day and the 7th woman. As Mang Kaloy was putting on clothes for sleep, he thought of the finality of death, how it spares no one but sometimes has its favorite. And more often than not, it preys on the poor.

After taking his place next to his wife, Mang Kaloy’s body begged him to sleep but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about how the lockdown due to the pandemic was a curse that took it’s toll on the working class. How thousands of people lost their jobs or were layed off due to budget cuts. How numerous local businesses had to close because they couldn’t keep up with the bills. How families resort to sleeping on the streets because they were evicted from where they live. Yet even with all that, people with money, the rich, still think it’s a blessing because they have all the time in the world to do what they want.

Just thinking of how they could eat more than three meals a day and having a nice bed to sleep in angered Mang Kaloy. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how these people have the choice on what to consume when his family struggled to find food to eat at least twice a day. It wasn’t fair how these people could afford to have 2 or more cars when he had to walk under the sun just to avail the free shuttle to get to work. It wasn’t fair how they have gadgets more than their hands could hold when he couldn’t buy his son a simple android phone for his online class.

He looked at Junjun with tears in his eyes dreading to see the sad look on his son’s face when he tells him he had to stop studying. Because of the pandemic, his wife was layed off from work. Leaving him to pay for everything even though his salary wasn’t enough. Mang Kaloy never dreamed of becoming rich. He simply wanted enough for his family not just to survive but to live too.

This was Mang Kaloy’s last thoughts before finally drifting off to a dreamless sleep only to be woken up by his alarm hours later. As usual, he didn’t get enough sleep but he had to work.

It took him about 2 hours to get to the hospital. Over an hour late, again.

“Naku, Mang Kaloy, late nanaman ho kayo. Sabi ni Boss last niyo na daw yung kahapon”, Joseph, St. Peter General Hospital’s day shift security guard greeted as Mang Kaloy enters the lobby.

“Oo nga, Sep, eh. Kaso hirap talaga makasakay lalo na’t agawan yung free shuttle sa may amin”.

“Good luck nalang po, Mang Kaloy. Sana good mood si Boss ngayon.”

Mang Kaloy responded with a half-smile. He was trying to control his nerves because deep down, he knew this is it. He knew he was going to get fired. He could feel it. Fisting his hand, he knocked on his boss’ door.

“Gandang uma-”

“Wag na ho, Mang Kaloy. ‘Di na po kailangan. Tanggal na ho kayo sa trabaho”, His boss cut him off even before he could finish his greeting.

“Pero Sir-”

“Sorry talaga, Mang Kaloy. Sa gitna ng pandemya, kailangan ho talaga namin kayong mga maintainance. Yung ilang oras na late niyo, andami po kasing nasasagasaan. Yung mga kasama niyo sila yung nag co-cover ng shift niyo kapag wala pa kayo. Hindi na kasi tama yung ganoon.”

“Sir, maawa ho kayo. Natanggalan rin po ng trabaho asawa ko, wala na po kami halos makain. Yung anak ko po ‘di na po makapag aral kasi wala na po kaming pera. Itong trabahong ‘to nalang po talaga bumubuhay sa amin”, Mang Kaloy was on the verge of tears explaining. He couldn’t lose his job. Not now. Not when everything else is falling apart.

“May nahanap na ho akong kapalit niyo, Mang Kaloy. Mas bata din sa inyo. Mas marami pang mabuhat at magawa”.

Defeated and knowing he couldn’t do anything else, Mang Kaloy stood up and nodded at his boss in acknowledgement. He turned to leave the room, reaching for the doorknob and closing it shut.

Walking towards the exit, he took out his old keypad phone and texted his wife the news. Realizing that his wife probably didn’t have any load, He decided to call her. She answered after the first ring.

“Bat ka tinanggal? Jusko hindi ba nila alam naghihirap ang mga tao ngayon? Pano na tayo, Loy? Pano na ang pagkain natin? Pano tayo mabubuhay nito? Wala pa rin akong mahanap na trabaho hanggang ngayon. Kahapon pa ang huling kain natin. Pano na si Junjun? Di ko na kaya to. Hindi ko na talaga kaya, Loy.”

His wife ended the call even before he could talk. He decided to call again but he didn’t have enough load anymore. By foot, the distance from the hospital to their house was a good 6 hours. He dreaded it but it wasn’t like he had any other choice. The free shuttle only had two service times. One in the morning and another at night. With an empty stomach under the glaring sun, Mang Kaloy started his walk.

It was almost 5:00 in the afternoon when he reached his place. As he opened the door, he saw that only Junjun was inside. Before he could ask his son where his mom was, an ear-piercing scream tore through the room. Alarmed, he looked at Junjun and told him to stay put.

Outside, people were crowding near the communal bathroom. As he was walking towards the crowd, he could hear bits and pieces of their whispers.

Babae.

Bigti.

Hirap ng buhay.

Hindi na kinaya.

Suddenly his eyes went wide.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

He pushed through people to get closer to the front only to see his wife’s lifeless body on the bathroom floor with a noose wrapped around her neck. Mang Kaloy couldn’t breathe. Air was stuck in his throat and he couldn’t swallow. He was shocked, frozen to his feet.

Before anyone could react, his knees gave out. He knelt next to his wife, bringing her body onto his lap and clutched it tight. For a minute, he didn’t move. He just held her. Savoring the last of her warmth.

And then he screamed.

 

Samantha Lucille Tancontian is from Davao City, studying BA English in UP Mindanao.

 

 

Dua (Part 1)

Fiction by | May 17, 2021

The crescent moon appeared that night just as predicted. Before the sky turned completely dark, Norissa’s family already bathed, getting ready for the start of Ramadan.

Her husband was the one who took charge of bathing the family. He bathed himself first. Then, he bathed the kids — all eight of them – before he proceeded with his three wives.

Omar was an Imam so he had to move fast after bathing Norissa and his two other wives since he still had to preside the dusk prayer or Maghrib. When Omar left to prepare for his Azan, Norissa took charge of everyone, telling the wives to dress their kids up and to proceed to the Masjeed.

This had been their routine every Ramadan. Omar didn’t need to tell Norissa to take charge anymore since she already knew her duty: serving her husband. Every special religious event, Omar led his family of 12 to prayer and to other activities.

He had a total of five sons—two from Norissa, one from Salima, the second wife, and two from Zaara, the third wife. He taught his five sons about Islam, the male Muslim, and their responsibilities in leading the family, and how to read the Qur’an. Norissa was left to educate the other two wives and the three daughters. They learned about the importance of wearing their hijab, their service to their husband and to their kids, and their Sunnah’s.

The Masjeed was just within the compound of the Jama’a. Some of the community just prayed inside their houses, especially women. The males usually dominated the place of prayer. Norissa and other female family members usually prayed inside the house, but since it was the start of Ramadan, they had to show their support and pray inside the Masjeed. Inside the Masjeed, the males and females were separated, yet both genders could still hear the Imam.

The wives and daughters laid their sajjadas or prayer rugs, performed two sujoods, and waited for the Maghrib to start while listening to Omar’s sermon. Norissa glanced at her right and saw Zaara and Salima with their daughters. Silently, she wished she had a daughter. Would she ever have a daughter if Omar only had her and Salima as his wives? Or if she were the only wife?

Aliyah, Zaara’s daughter, sat between her and her mother. She met Norissa’s eyes and smiled. She caressed her head and whispered, “You should start looking for and taking care of your family no matter how young you are.”

Aliyah was puzzled to what Norissa told her. But instead of asking what she meant, she hugged Norissa and replied, “But Babo takes care of me and everyone.”

After Maghrib, Norissa had to go home immediately to prepare food for everyone. Salima and Zaara always helped her in the kitchen, so the task was divided. Omar and his sons stayed behind the Masjeed and discussed the Ramadan activities, the new Masjeed in the next barangay sponsored by some politician, and other personal issues backed up with the teachings of Qur’an.

“Kuya,” Atif, the youngest, said to Nashreen while holding his hand, “I wanna go home. When are we going home? I’m getting hungry.”

“I’ll tell Ama,” Nashreen smiled, stroking Atif’s hair.

Nashreen waited until Omar finished talking before interrupting. He wouldn’t dare talk while Ama talked because he knew he would be beaten if it happened. Once, he did that while Zaara and Ama were in their own house. He saw through the window Zaara sitting on Omar’s lap while Ama was blowing through her ears and brushing her hair. He decided to call Ama because his Ina had a high fever and he didn’t know what to do. Omar dragged Nashreen home. Ama struck him repeatedly with a long, thin stick when they got to Norissa’s house. He could not walk for three days after that beating.

“Ama,” Nashreen whispered. “Can we go ahead? We’ll help Ina in preparing our meals.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay until the discussion is over?” Omar replied while still engaging a bit in the other conversation.

“But Atif wanted to poo. At his age, he could not help it.”

Omar glanced to his youngest son who was already smiling. He smiled in return and turned to Nashreen.

“Make sure the food is cooked once I get home,” he said. “I still need to lead the Taraweeh.”

Nashreen held his younger brothers’ hands and they walked home.

“Do you think Ama will take long, Kuya?” Fahad asked. “Ina doesn’t like it when Ama comes home late for supper.”

“Not sure, Fahad,” Nashreen answered. “What I’m sure of is this: our food is delicious back home so we have to hurry!”

“Is it bistek?” Noman asked.

“I think it’s chopsuey!” Abdul exclaimed.

“Chimken! I smell chimken!” Atif clapped his hands with glee.

“I just hope it’s not fish,” Saleem said.

The boys laughed on their way home. When they arrived, they saw their Inas at the kitchen. The girls were at the other room, playing dolls.

Atif ran and hugged Zaara. “Ina! I missed you,” he shouted.

“I missed you too, baby!” Zaara hugged her baby tightly.

“Ina, what’s for supper?”

“What do you think?”

“Chimken!”

“Correct! Adobong manok!”

“I knew it! Right, Kuya Nash? Kuya Fahad? I said chimken!”

Everyone laughed at how excited Atif was over the food.

“If it isn’t for your son, Zaara,” Salima said, “this house would not be this joyful!”

“I wish he would not grow up so fast,” Salima said.

“I am always your baby, Inah,” Atif said, hugging her mother.

Norissa was smiling while silently looking at the scene. She remembered when it was only she who was preparing the meals. Nashreen would be preparing the table while Abdul would be sweeping the floor. Then both sons would wait at the door for Ama’s arrival.

“I think the adobo is ready,” Norissa stood up and got her ladle. Smoke got out of frying pan as she opened the lid. Everyone could smell the savory aroma of the adobo — its sourness from the vinegar, saltiness from the soy sauce, sweetness from the sugar, and the spiciness from the bay leaves and pepper corns. She got the frying pan out from the heat and told Nashreen to set up the table for everyone.

The table was set. The food was warm. Everyone was inside Norissa’s house except for Omar. And it was an unwritten rule for the family that nobody ate unless Omar arrived.

“Ina, I’m hungry,” Aliyah said, holding her tummy. “I bet Babo Norissa’s adobo tastes good.”

“But Ama is not home yet, Aliyah,” Zaara said. “A little while, okay?”

Norissa heard this so she decided to tell a story to put the children at ease.

“Who wants to hear a story?” she asked.

“Babo,” Atif said, “it’s too early for bedtime story.”

“I wanna hear it, Ina,” Nashreen said. He knew this was what his Ina did to make the kids forget that they were hungry while waiting for their ama. He sat in front of Norissa and winked at her mother.

“Am I only going to share this story with Nashreen?” Norissa asked.

All the girls and boys, including Zaara, sat together with Nashreen.

 

Khamille hails in Mati City, Davao Oriental, Philippines. She has been teaching for 4 years now. When inspiration hits her, she expresses it through writing. She has been through various writers workshops, locally and nationally. Last 2019, her novel, entitled Budi, won as the Best Young Adult Novel for the Lagaslas Writers Workshop and is set to be published soon. She usually writes about the practices of Islam in her community, especially of how a Muslim woman is treated in a family.