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Monday, April 28, 2014

Just Remembering



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.




Monday, April 21, 2014

For Gaying

April 17, 2014


Dear Gaying,


I miss you so much. I haven’t seen you for almost 12 hours now and my heart is grieving to see your smile. I miss your sweet voice. I miss your gentleness. I miss how you say my name. And I could never forget how you told me to stay in the camp and be with you. I wish I could stay a little longer, but I have other promises to keep, too. I have to go home. But as I’ve promised, I will be back. Perhaps I’d be there on your birthday, or even better, during the Feast of Ruach HaKodesh. May Elohim hear the desires of my heart.


You see, you remind me of myself. When you told me you loved to read and draw, I just knew you were special to me. I just knew I could feel your heart just then. I just knew. Do you remember the talk we had when we watched the fireflies playing around the trees? You asked me if I preferred loud or peaceful places. Then we ended up singing “Lead Me Lord” and talking about your beautiful gift from Elohim. Sigh. That was too beautiful to be ever thought of forgetting.

I’ve been crying ever since I came back home, Gaying. My spirit longs to be with you there. Coming back to the world only has reminded me that I do not belong here at all. I hate the discreet selfishness in just about everything. I have already been used to your sweet voices there, and now, the nagging noises in Iligan that I have been used to before seem a whole lot strange to me. If only you were just a three-minute walk away, I’d be there in a flash to hug you, and talk with you.

I’ll try my best to not be sad for a long time over our departure, so please promise me you’d smile too. Always remember that we will be back, in His time. Do not forget us. Do not forget our moments of victory. Always remember Ate Allen and Ate Annie, who you thought to be already 30 and 28. Always remember Ate Aimae’s loud laughter and beautiful tambourine dancing. Maybe she’ll teach you to dance for Abba YHWH’s glory, too if you’d like. Always remember Kuya Kenmore for making you laugh all the time. Do not forget his dirty slippers nor his dancing. And, always remember Ate Aine.  Remember our conversations and our shared love for using Elohim’s gift of knowledge for His glory. You are still young, Gaying, but I do know that our Elohim has already set you apart for His kingdom to come.

The lump on my throat while writing this letter makes no plans of disappearing just yet. But I’ll leave the rest of what I’d like to say, for my future visit to the camp. I miss you, Gaying: Abegayel of Rabbani Yahshua ha Mashiyach. I pray to see you soon.


The Lord, Rabbani Yahshua, keep you and bless you. The Lord make His face shine upon you.


Love,

Ate Aine