Author: admin

Hussien C. Malawi 

Despite countless polygamous marriages, I’ve always told myself I’d never find myself in that situation. The thought of being in a polygamous marriage never sat well with me. Yet, there I was, getting ready to attend my husband’s marriage to another woman once again.

“Get ready,” my mother interjected, a gentle interruption to my thoughts. “We should be early, as it takes hours to reach our destination.”

Brimming tears betrayed me as I turned to my mother, seeking solace and understanding. “Despite the countless ways I have loved and supported him, how can this be, mother?” I uttered, my voice quivering with a mixture of anguish and bewilderment.

As my mother gently laid her hand on my back, her comforting presence acted as a healing salve for my troubled soul. “Sometimes, my dear, the desires and needs that reside within people’s hearts are complicated, beyond our complete comprehension. What matters most is how we choose to respond and forge ahead. Focus on the love you hold for your husband, your children, and, most importantly, for yourself.”

In the quiet, burdened by unsaid truths, I found the courage to speak my mind. “This is a sunnah, mother. But it seems he treats it as an obligation,” I said.

She embraced me tightly, her warmth comforting my worried heart. “I’ll try, Mother,” I whispered, my voice filled with determination.

“Mama, is daddy going to be there too? I miss him,” my younger son, Iman, chimed in, his innocent face lighting up with anticipation. He counted the days on his fingers, a playful smile gracing his lips. “He did not come home for 1, 2, 4, 5! Five days!”

“Yes, my dear,” I replied, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Are you excited? Wake up your brother Abdul so that we won’t be late.” As I dressed Iman in his shirt, he nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with excitement.

Memories of the previous year flooded my mind, recalling an unforgettable moment with my family. I vividly remembered the mysterious object wrapped in red cloth, secured with a thick thread around Iman’s stomach. It was a talisman, a form of spiritual defense against negative forces mentioned by the healer we had visited.

I was never particularly inclined towards such beliefs, but my mother-in-law insisted on consulting the healer. Our son, Iman, had been plagued by recurring illnesses, leaving us desperate for a solution to alleviate his suffering. In my husband’s province, there was a renowned traditional healer, known for his extraordinary abilities to cure ailments that defied conventional medicine.

In the car, my nerves were on edge as I prepared for a difficult conversation about my husband’s interest in polygamy. Memories of our wedding day, once filled with joy, now felt tainted by this revelation. Lost in thought, the ringing phone interrupted, revealing Abdul’s class adviser on the caller ID, sparking curiosity and concern about what news awaited me.

Gently setting aside my swirling thoughts, I turned to my son, Abdul, who sat quietly beside me in the car. His eyes, usually filled with a curious spark, were fixed on the world outside as if searching for answers beyond the glass pane. Worry marked my expression as I gently inquired, hoping to understand the reason for his teacher’s call. “Abdul, your teacher called. What happened?” Yet, he remained silent, his eyes fixed on the passing landscape, withholding any explanation.

Abdul, my son, was unlike any other child. He carried himself with a gentle demeanor and a calm presence, but there was a shy quality to him that set him apart. While he possessed a quiet wisdom beyond his years, he often preferred observing rather than actively engaging in conversations or social interactions. This reserved nature wasn’t a sign of disinterest but rather a struggle to find his place amidst the bustling world around him. As his mother, I couldn’t help but question if I had done something wrong, if my protective instincts had hindered his social development. Yet, amidst these doubts, my love for Abdul remained unwavering.

As the scorching heat of the sun bore down upon us, my little boy tugged at my sleeve, his eyes wide with excitement. “Mama, look! It’s raining!” Iman exclaimed, pointing towards the sky. I followed his gaze, expecting to see nothing but a cloudless expanse of blue. To my surprise, droplets of rain fell from above, glistening in the sunlight like a thousand tiny diamonds.

I couldn’t help but smile in bewilderment as I witnessed the extraordinary scene before me. The heavens seemed to be playing a mischievous game, juxtaposing the cool touch of rain with the relentless blaze of the sun. How could rain fall from the sky amidst such intense heat?

I watched as my son stretched out his hand, his palm upturned to catch the unexpected rainfall. He giggled with delight as the raindrops danced upon his skin.

As we stepped out of the car, my husband’s umbrellas, lined up in a neat row, extended their protective embrace to shield us from the elements. With my husband gently cradling our youngest, Iman, in his loving embrace, and my hand intertwined with Abdul’s, we ventured towards the threshold of their house. As we crossed the threshold, the weight of my expectations collided with the reality that awaited me, leaving me momentarily taken aback.

Instead of the intimate gathering I had envisioned—a private exchange between our families to discuss the impending changes in our lives—I found myself confronted by a gathering of unfamiliar faces. A wave of surprise washed over me, creasing my brow in confusion. This was not what I had anticipated. Why were so many unknown individuals present? I could not fathom the purpose of their presence.

As I looked around the room, I slowly realized that many faces belonged to the family of the woman my husband was about to marry. Despite the lively discussion about my husband’s polygamous union, my attention wandered. I couldn’t help but notice the easy rapport between my husband and his second soon-to-be wife, their laughter and shared understanding evoking memories of our own past.

As I excused myself from the meeting, leaving behind the weight of expectations and final decisions, I sought solace in the presence of my children. Abdul and Iman were with their aunt, their innocent faces filled with concern as I entered the room.

“Mama, are you okay?” Iman’s voice trembled with worry, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine concern.

“Why would I not be okay, my dear?” I reassured him, gently patting his head, attempting to mask the turmoil swirling within me.

“I know why we came here, Mama. That woman? Ugh!” Abdul’s frustration spilled forth, his young voice tainted with a mix of anger and sadness.

“Abdul, manners!” I reprimanded him gently, understanding the depths of his emotions but still guiding him towards kindness.

As I stood with my children, seeking solace in their presence, a familiar figure emerged behind me. It was my mother, her silent presence offering both comfort and strength. I hadn’t realized she had followed me, her unwavering support always by my side.

“So, what is your decision, my dear?” Her voice carried a mix of anticipation and concern, her eyes reflecting the weight of our shared history.

In the presence of my mother, I felt a sense of calm amidst my inner turmoil. With a heavy heart, I mustered the courage to speak my truth. “Mother,” I began, my voice wavering, “I can’t bear this any longer. Please, help me.” As the words hung between us, silence filled the room, heavy with emotion. Despite the difficulty of my decision, I knew it was necessary for my own peace of mind.

After gathering myself in solitude for what felt like an eternity, I rose from my seat and made my way back to the meeting. As I stood silently, hidden in the shadows of the doorway, my heart sank at the sight before me. There, in the dimly lit room, I watched as my mother, her face etched with desperation and tear-stained cheeks, pleaded with my husband.

The weight of the moment pressed upon my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I had known, deep down, that our relationship had been faltering, but witnessing this raw and vulnerable exchange between my mother and my husband shattered any illusions I had clung to. The reality of our crumbling union became starkly evident, and the need for my decision became even more resolute.

Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to spill over, but I refused to let them fall. Stepping towards my mother, seeking her embrace, I maintained a steady gaze upon my husband, waiting for his decision. His eyes wandered to the woman, and the talaq escaped his lips. At that moment, a mixture of relief and pain washed over me. It was a bittersweet liberation, a step towards reclaiming my sense of self and seeking a future where my happiness was not compromised.

With heavy hearts, we swiftly left the room and sought solace in our car, where my son Iman’s tears mingled with our shared pain. In our sorrow, Abdul, wise beyond his years, reached out to comfort his brother. As we drove away, relief washed over me, though uncertainty loomed ahead. Despite the unknown, I felt a flicker of hope knowing that I had taken the first step towards prioritizing my own happiness and well-being, with my children and mother by my side.

I woke up to the soft glow of the early morning sun seeping through the curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the room. The tranquility of the moment embraced me, and I savored the coziness of the bed, reluctant to leave its comforting embrace.

Lying still, a gentle fluttering sound draws my attention, and I’m amazed to see a yellow hummingbird darting around the room, its iridescent feathers catching the sunlight. Mesmerized, I extend my hand, and it lands delicately on my finger before I release it to soar out the window.

Settling into my favorite armchair with a steaming cup of coffee, I savor the serenity, the aroma mingling with the morning breeze. As my children’s laughter fills the house, I find solace in their presence, their unwavering love anchoring me as I navigate life’s uncertainties, determined to create a home filled with love and authenticity.

 

Almayrah A. Tiburon

Schedule ko sa araw na ito sa aking doktor para magpa-ultrasound. Hindi ko alam kung bakit pinili ko ang pink kong whole dress, ginamit ang pink na rubber shoes, pink na medyas, at pink na kombong, hindi dahil sa babae ako kundi yun ang naisipan at komportableng isuot ko sa araw na yun. Habang nagbibiyahe’y napapaisip kung ano ang kasarian ng magiging anak ko. Pagdating sa clinic ay marami ring mga buntis ang nandoon para magpa-check-up. Nang matawag ang pangalan ko’y nag-usap kami ng doktor ko, sabay pinahiga ako’t nakatingin kami pareho sa monitor.

“Dok, bago niyo po tingnan kung anong gender ng anak ko, gusto ko po pala babae kasi dalawa po ang anak kong lalaki.”

Ngumiti ang doktor. Marahil nakita niya sa akin ang pananabik. “Baby girl! Congrats!” Wika niya at kung hindi ako nakahiga’y marahil mapapalundag ako sa tuwa. Saglit pa’y pumatak ang mga luha ko. Muling tiningnan ng doktor ang monitor, “babae nga. Tears of joy,” aniya habang nakatingin sa akin.

Nang malaman ng asawa kong si Azis ay masaya rin siya dahil alam niyang masaya ako kahit pa mas gusto niya ulit ng batang lalaki. Ang totoo’y nag-aalala siya kung magiging babae ang anak namin. Mahirap daw kasi palakihin ang batang babae sa henerasyong ito. Pasaway raw kasi ang mga bata at mahirap kung ang pasaway ay babae. Kako depende sa amin ‘yun bilang mga magulang. Niyakap ko sina Cozy at King at sinabing alagaan nila ang bunso nila at protektahan. Hindi ko alam kung bakit sinabi ko ‘yun sa mga bata kahit alam kong hindi naman ako maiintindihan ng isang mag-aapat na taong gulang at mahigit isang taong gulang.

Limang buwan na ang ipinagbubuntis ko. Muli ay sa panahon ng pandemya, na mas lalo akong dapat mag-ingat dahil may dalawang maliliit na bata at may batang babae na rin sa sinapupunan ko na hindi pa man lumalabas ay mahal na mahal ko na. Bago matulog ay kinapa ko ang aking tiyan at pinakiramdaman ang tibok ng kanyang puso. Gumalaw siya sa unang pagkakataon. Marahil ramdam niya na masaya akong magiging nanay niya.

Sa gabi habang pinapatulog naming mag-asawa ang dalawang bata, “Alam mo, sa mga susunod na buwan ay tatlo na sila,” wika ko kay Azis na hindi pa rin nawawala ang mga ngiti ko sa labi.

“Sinong patutulugin ko sa tatlo paglabas ng anak natin? A, si King. Malaki na rin si Cozy at maiintindihan naman niya.”

“Basta, walang dapat na mangunguna sa kanila, ayaw kong maramdaman nila na hindi tayo patas, na kailangang mahalin natin silang tatlo nang labis-labis.”

Bago kami matulog ay pinag-usapan namin ang magiging pangalan ng bata. Ang napagkasunduan namin ay “Bae Qailah (one who speaks) Sofia (an intelligent and wise woman)” at ang kanyang magiging palayaw ay “Precious”.

Anak, Precious, nag-alala ako para sa ating dalawa dahil sa pandemya, mapanganib ang paglabas sa kagaya kong buntis kaya sobrang pag-iingat ang ginagawa namin ng ama mo. Alam kong ang pagbubuntis kong ito’y stressful dahil sa pag-iisip ng laganap na sakit na ito. Natural lang siguro na mag-alala ako para sa atin dahil sobrang mahal na mahal namin kayo ng mga kuya mo.

Kapag naipanganak na pala kita’y ayaw kong bumili ng mga damit mo na kulay pink lang. Gusto ko kung anong komportable’t presentable ka’y yun ang ipapasuot ko sayo. Ayaw ko kasing kung anong ididikta ng lipunan ay gagawin ko dahil ayaw ko ng stereotype; na sinasabi ng maskuladong lipunan na ang mga babae ay mahihina, na kailangan ay sa tahanan lamang kasama ang kaldero’t kalan, at maglinis ng bahay. Ang pagiging babae ay hindi nasusukat sa kung ano ang nagagawa sa tahanan at kung anong kulay ang isinusuot. Naniniwala akong maraming babae ang polychronic, na kayang gawin ang mga bagay nang sabay-sabay, na alam kong kaya mong pagsabayin ang maging manggagawa’t kapaki-pakinabang sa lipunan gayundin ang gawing maging maliwanag, mapayapa, at masaya ang tahanan.

Bilang babae, gusto kong paglaki mo’y maging matatag, matapang, at matalino ka sa mga pagsubok at manindigan sa mga desisyon at landas na tatahakin. May mga pagkakataon mang mahina ang boses mo’y natitiyak kong may makaririnig at may matitinag dahil huhubugin kita sa mga salitang may puso at malawak na pang-unawa. Lagi mo sanang itatangi ang kapayapaan at katarungan. Huwag titigil sa pagiging mabunga at malikhain. Huwag kang mag-alala kasi nandito kami ng ama mo para alalayan at gabayan kayong magkakapatid.

Limang buwan ka pa lang pero tungkol sa lipunan na ang sinasabi ko. Marahil ay gusto na talagang kitang makita. Bigla kong naramdamang gumalaw ka. A, baka ramdam at gusto mo rin ang mga gusto kong mangyari. Alam mo bang ninanamnam ko ang bawat mong galaw? Natutuwa kasi ako dahil pakiramdam ko’y masaya kang kasama ako. Alam mo bang nagsimula na akong mag-isip at mangarap ng magiging kinabukasan mo? At alam mo bang nasa imahinasyon ko na tatlo na kayo; magkakasamang pakakainin, maglalaro, magtatakbuhan, mamamasyal, at siguro mag-aaway. Party-party na siguro dito sa bahay. Nananabik na talaga ako sa pagkikita natin. Paglabas mo sa Abril ay mas lalo ka pa naming mamahalin ng ama mo kasama ng mga kuya mo – aarugain at kakalingain namin kayo nang walang humpay at walang pagod.

Nelson Dino

The sea had turned restless, its once calm surface now a churning mess of waves. A young lady stood on the edge of her father’s boat, the wooden frame creaking under the strain of the storm. She held tight to the worn railing, her knuckles white with effort, eyes wide as the sky grew darker. The winds howled, ripping through the sails and sending the boat veering off course. Panic flickered in her chest, a wild, erratic heartbeat that seemed to sync with the pounding rain. Her father’s voice, calling her name—Lundang—was swallowed by the roaring sea as furious waves battered the boat. Then, a deafening crack echoed through the storm, the sound of wood splintering, and suddenly, the world tilted violently.

Everything was water.

She was flung into the icy embrace of the ocean, the shock of it stealing her breath. The waves surged over her, pulling her down and spinning her in a dizzying swirl beneath the surface. The salt stung her eyes, and her lungs screamed for air, but she fought against the current, kicking her legs frantically. Just as darkness began to close in, she broke through the surface, gulping down the air in ragged gasps. The sea raged around her, merciless and unyielding, but she clung to consciousness, driven by a fierce will to survive.

The storm seemed to rage on forever, but finally, the winds began to die down. The waves still tossed the young lady about, but with less force, and she found herself floating in the water, exhausted but alive. The night sky had cleared, revealing a scattering of stars overhead, dim and distant but still there, like silent witnesses to her struggle. She felt a sudden stillness as if the sea had finally relented, allowing her a moment of peace. Her limbs ached, her body battered and bruised, but the fight had gone out of the ocean, leaving her to drift on the quiet, moonlit waves.

Time lost its meaning as she floated there, alone and adrift. But then, out of the endless blue, something changed. A gentle but insistent current began to carry her away from the open sea. She was too weak to resist and tired to care, so she let it guide her, hoping it would lead her to safety.

When she awoke, she was no longer in the water. The ground beneath her was solid, calm, and covered in soft, damp earth. She blinked against the harsh sunlight, the scent of greenery filling her lungs. Slowly, she sat up, feeling the sun’s warmth on her skin and the grass’s softness under her hands. She looked around, taking in her surroundings.

She was on land—dry land, lush and green, with trees towering overhead. The air was thick with the scent of rain, earth, and birds calling from the branches. She pushed herself to her feet, unsteady but determined, her damp clothes clinging to her body. She took a few tentative steps, feeling the earth give slightly beneath her weight, the grass brushing against her ankles.

Ahead of her, rising out of the forest like a silent sentinel, was Bud Bongao. The peak loomed above her, its slopes covered in dense, green vegetation. Seeing it filled her with an inexplicable sense of calm as if the mountain were a familiar friend watching over her. She couldn’t remember how she got here, but the show didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was safe.

As she made her way through the forest, she noticed movement in the trees above her. Monkeys, their dark eyes bright with curiosity, leaped from branch to branch, chattering amongst themselves. They watched her with interest, their small faces expressive as if they were wondering what she was doing in their domain. She smiled up at them, feeling a strange kinship with these creatures of the wild. They seemed to sense her peaceful intent, for they did not flee but followed her progress through the forest, swinging from vine to vine.

The path was narrow, winding through the dense foliage, leading her closer to the peak. She followed it without hesitation, driven by an instinct she couldn’t quite explain. The air grew cooler as she ascended, the trees thinning out to reveal more of the sky above. Finally, she emerged into a small clearing, where the trees parted to reveal a breathtaking view of the sea beyond. The vast blue expanse stretched before her, glittering in the sunlight, calm and serene as if the storm had never been.

She stood there, transfixed by the sight, her heart swelling with awe and gratitude. She had survived. The sea had spared her, and now she was standing on this sacred mountain, looking out over the world. It felt like a blessing, a gift from the universe, a reminder of the fragility of life and strength within her.

“You see it too, don’t you?”

The voice was deep, warm, and full of understanding. The young lady turned to find a man standing at the edge of the clearing, partially hidden in the shade of the trees. His beard was long and white, his eyes kind, with a wisdom stretching beyond the years. He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like someone who had lived many lifetimes.

She nodded, unable to find her voice, her gaze drifting back to the sea, and asked, “How do you know my name?”

“It’s like a current,” he said, standing beside her. “Your name is like a life, as it means a “close friend.” Sometimes, it’s calm; sometimes, it’s rough. But it’s always moving, always changing and tough like the peak of this mountain.”

She felt his words settle into her heart, deep and true, like the roots of a tree. They stood silently as the sea whispered its ancient secrets and the sun slowly descended toward the horizon.

Her name echoed in the rhythm of the currents, a melody tangled in her life as her memories unfolded. With her plan and her father setting their sights on Sandakan, the waves in the Sulu Sea rose and fell. Their journey faltered, leaving them adrift, their lives stretching into a vast, uncertain expanse—her father was never found again!