Clock

Tick-tock.

It's the sound of a clock. Counting down every second we live, everything we do and each precise second we do it.

It's the sound that kept you the day you were born, the sound that will merit even the day of your passing.

It's the sound that kept you from being late this morning, it's the sound that you hang on everytime the day is through.

It's the sound you live by, everyday, and you might not even know it.

In every single second holds a moment. A precious fragment in time that might have been forgotten, but whose taste is still on the tip of the mind's tongue. Wavering and threatening to fade, but still lingering. Still everlasting.

Your every tear lies on the ticking of the clock. Your every fall. Your every sorrow.

But so does your every triumph, your every flight, your every joy.

Like the slow, constant dripping of water is the rhythimic, unfailing pulse of the clock.

Everything happens in time. All we have to do is wait.

Sa Ugoy ng Duyan

...

Sana'y di magmaliw ang dati kong araw
Nang munti pang bata sa piling ni Nanay
Nais kong maulit ang awit ni Inang mahal
Awit ng pag-ibig nang ako'y nasa duyan…

Nakaupo ako sa duyan, kasama ang alaala ng aking ina. Pagod na pagod na ako sa kakaiyak, pagod na pagod na sa lahat ng bagay na may kinalaman sa pagkamatay. Naaalala ko parin ang kanyang sinabi sa akin.

“Huwag mo akong limutin, ngunit bitawan mo rin ako,” wika niya.

Pinunas ko ang mga luha na nahuhulog muli sa aking mga mata. Ngayon ay nagsisisi ako sa aking mga kalokohang ginawa noong araw, noong buhay pa si ina. Pinapagalitan niya ako noon, naiinis rin ako sa kanya. Ngumiti ako ng konti, inaalala ang kanyang mga sermon sa akin. Ngayon na wala na ang mga araw na iyon, hinahanap ko sila.

Umugoy ng kaunti ang duyan sa pagdaan ng hangin. Hanggang ngayon ay napapatulog ako sa boses ng aking ina, na dinadala ng bawat ugoy ng duyan, ng bawat ihip ng hangin. Napapatulog ako sa kanyang alaala, sa kanyang kanta…

Sa aking pagtulog na labis ang himbing
Ang bantay ko'y tala
Ang tanod ko'y bituin
Sa piling ni Nanay
Langit ang buhay
Puso kong may dusa
Sabik sa ugoy ng duyan mo, Inay
Sana narito ka Inay…

Sana narito ka, inay.


[based on a Filipino lullaby]

Kapre

A lot of things slip past you when you're, say, about seven years old.

.............................

"Are you thsure thith ith a good idea, Annemarie?" James asks, struggling to achieve proper pronunciation despite his missing front teeth.

We're in the garden, collecting small bugs for a brand-new experiment.

"Calm down, Jamesey. Mama thinks we're in the tent."
"They might hear us."
I pause and look at him cautiously. "Who?"
"The night monsterth and the kapres. Daddy thsays they thsmoke big pipes and thsit in big treeth. Like that one."

"Kids? Where are you?"

I run through the house screaming bloody murder and dive inside the camp tent that stands pitched on the patio. He dives in after me.

The black of the night makes the tent's interior even darker than I'd like.

"You're the one who's always scared, anyways, meathead." I hiss.
"Then why did you ruuun?"
"Because our mamas are gonna hear us."
"They'll hear uth even more 'cause you thscreamed."

We bicker on for a while, until the sound of our mother's voices cut in.

"JAMES! ANNEMARIE!"

Quickly we slide under the tent blanket for refuge.

"I'm sorry for making you scream, Annie! I'm sorry sorry sorry..."

What a baby.

My mother rips the tent door open. She's standing there with James's mother, whose hands are planted on her hips. I've got the feeling that they're gonna start calling us by our whole names and stuff.

They don't, but they lecture us on a very consequential matter: that of digging through the garden without permission or a pair of rubber gloves. At night. In pajamas.

After they leave, I turn to James.
"I believe in your kapre," I whisper. "we should go hunt for it!"
He brightens. "Yeah! But maybe we should bring along flashlights. It'ths dark."

Nodding, I start to rummage through his backpack for a torchlight. Then suddenly he tugs on my arm, looking rather beseeching.

"Annemarie, promith me now that if the kapre gets uth, we'll help each other out. Okay?"
"Yes, and through anything else, too," I whisper back.
"Spit oath," he says. I reach my hand out to him, and he spits into it. I do the same-most gracious-favor for him, and we shake.

[Eugh. Slimy.]

He smiles at me, so I can see the gap where two new teeth will be sprouting out soon. And I smile back, because somehow, I know he isn't going to fail me.

.............................

Ah, only a true kababata knows just how important and meaningful a spit oath is. It's for life and for death, for sun and for rain.

No, seriously.

Don't you think so? :)

The Mango Tree

It was for tomorrow, honest-to-goodness tomorrow?! My knees started to feel weak. There had to be a way to get apples before classes tomorrow. I felt a bolt of electricity shoot through my spine. There was only one way.

James.

Quick as lightning, I grabbed the cordless phone that lay on the kitchen counter. My fingers flew through the familiar number.

"Hello?" a voice answered on the other end. I gulped.
"Hello, may I please speak to James..."
"It's me, dummy." The playfulness in his voice made my heart jump.

On the verge of tears, I asked if he had any apples.

"Apples?" he paused for a minute. "Meet me at our mango tree in ten minutes."
"You expect to get apples from a mango tree?"
Beep. I rolled my eyes.

Then I realized that I was to go to the tree. Our tree. Uneasily, I tugged at the hem of my shorts. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go, to that old place where James and I had spent our childhood afternoons. And why meet there?

But I had to go. Composing myself, I straightened up. If I didn't go, my cooking class groupmates would tan my hide, anyways.

.............................

The gentle evening breeze blew through my hair. I rested my hand on the tree's rough, old bark. Memories of long-ago summers rushed through my mind...

I felt a mango fall on my head. I looked up.

There, sitting on a branch, was James, cradling a brown bag filled with, yes, apples. I pouted, rubbing the top of my head. He reached for my hand, and pulled me up when I gave it. He settled the brown bag into my arms.

"Thanks," I said, truly grateful now. He grinned back at me.

Now, I looked around me. It was here in the shelter of these leaves that I grew up. It had kept me from the world when I cried, its whisper rocked me to sleep when I was tired. Why had I not come back to it? I felt a tear stream down my cheek.

He turned to me and gently brushed the tear away. "I was remembering, too."
Half-laughing, I asked, "Remembering what?"
He looked at me steadily and said, "Back then."

I felt a lump rise in my throat. I leaned my head against his shoulder. We sat like that for a while, lost in our own thoughts.

Then I looked at him. Really looked at him. I felt surprised when he returned my gaze.

I gave a strange little laugh. "Are you learning me by heart?" I teased.
He fell to an even deeper silence. "No," he said slowly. "I already have." He smiled at me.

I felt like crying. I hadn't seen that smile in such a long time. Now I knew that I missed those days here in the mango tree. Our mango tree, a long, tired time ago. How did my need for apples lead to this realization...?

"We'd better get on home," I said softly. He nodded, taking my hand as we leaped off the tree like before. I guess I hadn't lost my touch.

He looked up at the tree once more, my hand still in his.

"Some tree, huh?" he said wistfully.
I hugged him.
"Yeah... some tree."

Hallway Air

The door muffles out my classmates’ voices as I close it. How much a quick restroom break means to anyone else, I don’t know, but it means a lot to me. I’m more than thankful to escape from the chilly classroom right now, and I don’t care if I’m just getting out to empty my bladder.

I hear their voices swell and cease again as the door opens one more time. A dark-haired girl steps out and takes my hand in hers, smiling at me. Meet Tatienne, miss ultra-energy. Let’s just say that the words ‘too much caffeine’ pops into your head when you see her, and let’s just leave it that way, shall we?

A fresh gush of warm hallway air blows as a boy passes by. This strangely weak feeling comes over me as I feel the skin of my arm brush against his. “Hey shrimp,” he whispers into my ear as I walk by, running his hands through the blackness of his hair. I roll my eyes and mutter back, “Paper-face.” He leans against the door frame and winks, before disappearing into the room.

I must be quite red right now, because Tat is surpressing a squeal. The moment we enter the restroom, she grabs both of my hands and looks severely at me.

“What is it with you and James? I could absolutely positively feel sparks flying; I could feel the tension.”

She bounces up and down, up and down expactantly, fire lighting her eyes with an excited flame. I pull my hands back and pretend to fix my hair. “Nothing is,” I say simply. I can practically feel her stare drilling a hole into the back of my head. She clucks her tounge impatiently and turns to the mirror with a sigh. I know she knows I’m lying, but it’s more complicated than that.

Things between James and I weren’t always like this. There never was any tension; there never were any weird silences before. There was just us. I guess it’s not like that anymore; everything just changed more than I would have wanted them to.

As for Tat, I just… can’t tell her. Not yet.

One, she wouldn’t understand. It’s not that I don’t trust her, she’s just got way too much sugar in her system, see. She’s got this ‘tendency’ to let things slip.

Two, I know how I feel for James, but I don’t want anyone else to find out.

And three, most importantly…I really, really have to pee.