I cleared off my plate of rice, dried fish, monggo bean
soup, lutya meat balls, and banana-avocado salad quickly before slipping into
their kitchenette to help Gaying wash the dishes. The rest of the group has
just arrived from a quick swim in the river and has only started wolfing down
on the food on the table. I glanced at them and saw their smiles plastered on
their faces as if they had nothing in the world to worry about. Ben was soaking
wet, leaning on the old wooden bench, laughing, teasing me I made the wrong
decision to not take a dip in the pool they made in the river. I tried to
comment jokingly on the already muddy water they had been swimming in, but he
just chuckled and told me I was sour-graping. It was a fine day. Too fine in
fact, that I thought this day had been one of the best I have had this year. I
pushed back my frames up the bridge of my nose. Eventually, I left the rest to
their late lunch and proceeded to the dirty dishes.
“They sure had a lot of fun,” I thought, noticing Gaying
staring at me all the while. I turned to her and grinned.
“I could’ve gone after you at the Olivette, the mountain.” she said, washing the soap suds off the
plates. Her hair was kept neatly tied behind her red sakak, the head covering. I raised my eyebrows before going back to
rubbing soap on the dish cloth.
“Really? Why didn’t you come up? It would have been nice of
you did.” I replied, surprised that she even started a full conversation with
me.
“Oh, I was cooking your meal,” she said, though I was not
sure if she was sad or completely happy with it.
I did a quick evaluation of her, starting from her dimpled
cheeks to her long skirt that almost reached her ankles. She was only twelve
years old, I realized, but she had seemed more responsible than I am then. It
would be impossible for me to, like her, stay at the guest house, forgo the
games, and cook lunch for everybody. As I have been told a thousand times
before, I was too carefree; I never started working at home until last year
when my mom told us keeping a housemaid was too high maintenance.
“You did?” I exclaimed, baffled at her confession. I
couldn’t even fry a fish right until this year. And I’m nineteen. “Which dish
did you cook?”
“Your monggo beans.”
There was a timid smile that followed, as I gazed at her,
humbly putting the washed plates on a little basin. Maybe it was the way her
smile brightens her face. Or her eyes. I couldn’t tell which. Her innocence
radiated wherever she went, I wish I could trap little sparks of it all in a
little jar and bring it home with me. They would have looked so beautiful in a
tainted city.
She was watching me curiously as I washed the remaining
dishes. There weren’t any girls my age in the camp. There weren’t any girls
Gaying could really call “Ate”. If there were, I’d make a guess and say they’ve
gone down the city. She remained silent and let her observe me until I kept the
last dishes.
“Kuya Kenmore always makes me laugh,” she suddenly blurted
out, trying to stop her giggles.
“Why?” I asked her, half-laughing. “Does he look funny?”
I observed her cupping her mouth, though her palms failed
her and her giggles escaped in betrayal to her effort to be formal around me.
Back home, girls her age would have bellowed in laughter, slap anyone nearby,
and not bother the noise and informality. Gaying was different, I began to take
interest in her peculiar modest behavior I was not used to.
“Every time I look at him,” she said, “I just laugh. I
always remember that time he told Ate Aimae he doesn’t need to wash his feet.
He said they weren’t even dirty!”
I looked at her in sheer amusement.
“But,” she went on, “when he raised his foot, it was covered
with mud!”
Our laughter rang across the kitchenette, we had to cover
our mouths when we realized how much noise we were making. I didn’t find her
story funny at all, really. But her sweet laughter was too contagious. It was
as if I was meant to laugh along with her. I shook my head, half-grinning.
“Do you have to go?” she suddenly switched her tone. Trying
to open my mouth, the words didn’t come. I just stood there, rummaging through
my head for the right words to say. We had been here for only two days and a half
but it was already too difficult to detach myself from the place. From them. I looked down and realized I
was no longer wearing a long skirt. Even my head feels strange without a sakak on. I almost looked completely
back to normal.
“Please don’t go, Ate Aine” she managed to squeak. “Please?”
What should I say? That we couldn’t? I could already feel
her heart breaking as soon as I opened my mouth again. The words found it after
all. I quickly raised the corners of my mouth, trying to convince the two of us
that everything would be fine.
“I’m sorry, Gaying,” I whispered, resting my palm on her
shoulder. “I’m afraid we have to. Their homes are still so far away. They have
to ride buses and travel for hours.”
“How about you? You could stay.”
I paused and gave her a half hug, wrapping my arm around
her.
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “We’ll come back. I promise
you. In Elohim’s time. We will be.”
She beamed, looking comforted, though I was not exactly sure
what was going on at the back of her mind. I only smiled back.
As usual, it was too dark to see anything that night. There
was no electricity, and the only sources of light were solar flashlights, oil
lamps, and the bright moon behind the clouds. The darkness was comforting,
however, and brought us all in a different level of intimacy, I almost always
catch myself smiling at nothing in particular. It was just too good to be true,
if only life in the city could be this simple. Ate Saidah, Ate Connie, Ate
Lanie, Ma’am Jung, Kenmore, and Ate Annie were busy making palapa around the wooden table, mashing chili peppers and loads of sibujing, laughing and, occasionally,
sneezing. I had originally wanted to learn how to make this side dish, but
after getting my nose tired and sore from the smell, I decided to leave the table
and go somewhere else.
“Why aren’t there any stars?” I mumbled, disappointed that
just when I was in the highlands, the stars were held back by clouds. Stars were one of my sources of comfort back
home as they always remind me of the Lord’s comforting promises, just like how
He made a covenant with Abraham, then Abram. There weren’t any in the camp, but
I remained in my spot. I was at the end of the wooden staircase that faced the forest.
I didn’t move. Not until I noticed flickers of light around the highest tree.
Shooting stars? I
thought. Squinting my eyes, I stared at the tree. I let a giggle break out when
I realized they were not stars. In fact, they were nothing near stars.
“Fireflies!” I excitedly whispered to myself. They were so
beautiful, flickers of light danced around the distant forest, I couldn’t take
the grin off my face.
“Gaying!” I called out. “Come, quick. You should see this.”
“Oh. There always are a lot of that here,” Gaying beamed
when I showed her the bright insects fluttering from tree to tree. “Don’t you
have these down in the city?”
I shook my head. “I never saw this many. These must be
hundreds!”
There was a string of familiarity whenever I talked with
this girl, I noticed. It was refreshing. I could not imagine going home the
next day. To leave such place was illogical – painful, too. Life could be funny
sometimes. You take a dip in the waters only to be tossed to the mud in the
next second. But life is beautiful this way. To not experience a little twitch
in the muscle once in a while would be plain and stagnant.
Gaying and I went on, from singing one of her favorite songs
to talking about her family.
“Do you have a Papa, Ate Aine?” she whispered after a moment
of silence.
“Yes, I do.” I knew her dad was shot years ago so I kept my
answer brief. I didn’t want to stir any hurt she still might have. Instead, I
hummed an indefinite melody to fill in the gap in the atmosphere. You know that
moment you rack through your memory for something else to talk about but fail,
so you resort to humming a tune.
“I no longer have my Papa,” she said.
“Hmm. But you still have your Mama, don’t you?”
She paused before looking out to the open. Fumbling with her
fingers, she cocked her head to the side. I waited, letting the cold breeze
bite my skin.
“She’s in Manila. She married again.”
“Haven’t you ever thought of going with her?”
She smiled. “My brother and I like it here. Besides, Mama
told us it was better for us to stay here, too. She says there are a lot of bad
people out there.”
I nodded, having nothing else to say. I let another tune
slip out my lips once again, waiting for her to share more of her mysteries.
“Ate Aine,” she mumbled. “Do you like to read?”
“Yes, I do!” I exclaimed, feeling my eyes light up. “In
fact, I read all the time. I love it. Do you, too?”
She grinned and nodded her head once. “Very much. I also
love to draw.”
“That’s amazing, Gaying.”
The night and our conversation drew on until Ate Lanie
eventually told Gaying it was past her bedtime. There was so much I have
learned about Gaying and the camp that night, it felt right. Soon, I wondered
when we’d have our next conversation. Although we were supposed to go home the
next day, I didn’t want the feeling of leaving sink in so I decided to stay up
a little longer – to make the most of our remaining hours. We talked with
David, the Hebrew, and ate a bunch of boiled bananas. Ma’am Jung even cracked a
durian open, I had to cover my nose the entire time to ward off the sharp smell,
refusing to taste even a small portion of it.
It was as if we had no mountains to say goodbye to. We
laughed and talked and laughed some more. We teased David who doesn’t
understand Sebuano, when he tried
durian for the first time.
“You have to finish your durian seed clean, David,” Ate
Connie instructed him in between sucking her own durian. David only grinned and
inspected her seed.
“Like this,” she raised her durian seed for everyone to see.
“See? No more flesh. Now, you clean your seed.”
We waited for him to take his seed to his mouth, but when he
gave his to Ate Connie to have her clean it for him, we all burst in laughter.
Every once in a while I had to feel the stiffness of my
abdomen. Having no break to relieve ourselves from too much laughing has hurt
it so much, I could almost feel my abs building up. When I told them this, they
only laughed some more and told me we were on the same boat.
The next day, Gaying refused to smile. In fact, she stayed
away from us. When I rushed to hug her, she only buried her face under her sakak when I noticed her tears about to
give in.
“Hey,” I whispered as I embraced her. “It’s alright. We’ll
come back. I’ll come back.”
She remained silent and forced a smile. The rest of our
goodbyes went to everyone else. To the kids. To the elders. Occasionally I’d
steal a glance at Gaying and catch her looking at us, absent-mindedly wiping
the dishes with a dish cloth. I wonder what she was thinking.
“Bye!” I hollered. “Bye, Gaying!” I waited for her to wave
her hand and say goodbye, but she only continued washing the dishes, staring
soberly at us. Her lips were pursed, and strands of her hair escaped from her sakak. She refused to say anything back.
“Tala, Aine,” I
heard Ben call out to me. He was ready to get on the habal-habal, a high-leveled motorcycle for the rough roads of the
highlands. I inspected the wheels, white from dried mud. The last time I rode
one, I had sore muscles for two days. I heaved a sigh and proceeded to our
special transport.
As agreed, Ate Allen sat behind the driver. She was smaller
so I easily squeezed in my place before Ben sat behind me. I took one last look
at the camp before the driver maneuvered the motorcycle towards the stream we
had to cross. If we were to come back, I’m not yet sure when. I might as well
breathe in all the fresh air I could while I can.
The ride back home had been more comfortable than the
previous one. Having been squeezed between Ate Allen and Ben had granted me
human seatbelts, though I’m not sure if they could say the same. Ate Allen’s
face was nearly buried at the driver’s back and I could feel Ben’s body
bouncing against the hard grill extension of the motorcycle, I had to ask him in
regular intervals if he could still endure the rest of the ride. I smiled. Ben
was telling me about the place and he was starting to stick out both his arms
to feel the wind whip against him. I followed suit, and there we were, acting
like mountain versions of Jack and Rose on the accident-proof habal-habal, although the moment felt
more melancholic than romantic. Soon, Ate Allen, who, even though was silent
the whole ride, started sticking out her arms, too. Ate Saidah and Ma’am Jung’s
habal-habal zipped pass us and I
chuckled when I realized their arms were sticking out as ours were.
“It’s so beautiful!” I exclaimed when Ben pointed out the
mountain range beyond the cliff. He had been talking about how the roads before
were so much rougher than they were now, when we took a turn and were now at
the edge of the hill. Trees which names I could not identify blanketed the
hills in the near horizon.
“Isn’t it?” he grinned back, his eyes squinting into tiny
slits, I wonder if he could still see anything.
Although the sun was blazing hot, I refused to wear my
jacket in the attempt to feel for the last time the cool breeze on my skin. I
let my sunglasses slip down the bridge of my nose when the wheels bumped
against the rough rocks for the umpteenth time. “I already have dark skin
anyway,” I told Ben when he said I should be wearing my jacket to keep my skin
from the sun.
I tried to stay happy throughout the ride. After all, I am.
Ben and I kept talking about the place, his family, his faith, and our fun
times in high school, and I simultaneously amused myself with the view. Of
course, while sticking our arms out. However, my thoughts seemed to drift back
to the camp. I wonder if the kids would still remember us when we get back. I
wonder if they’d still recognize us. I wonder what Gaying was doing now. If she
was still sad about our departure. Or if she was thinking of us like how we
were thinking of them.
And then I thought about what Grandma and the rest of the elders had told us before we left. That
no matter what we do, and no matter where we go, we should always follow what
Christ, Rabbani Yahshua ha Mashiyach
tells us to do. That we should put ahead service for the Lord’s kingdom before
our own desires. That we are no longer living for ourselves but for our Lord.
Our Master.
I shook my head to relieve the jam of thoughts, breathed in
the mountain air, and sighed.
“I really pray we could come again,” I whispered to Ben,
though I’m not entirely sure he heard me. The rough bumps on the road had
drowned my voice, and I let my thoughts drown along with it, too, hoping my
heart could rest for a moment.
