Category: Fiction

Daniel Luna 

Omar, a twelve-year-old boy, his brown eyes large, hefty as the earth itself, carries tales of resilience. His hair, black as a raven’s wing, coils into tight curls that mimic the sloppy paths he navigates daily. His lips, round and chapped by the relentless sun, seldom separate for words, speak volumes about his toughness. And his nose, broad, flat, and evocative of Emilio Aguinaldo, mirrors his strong heritage. An orphan, void of the warmth of familial ties, stands alone in his struggle for survival. He became his own savior, grappling daily to secure his basic needs. He barely managed to eat even once a day.

He lives in a small house, or we say kubo in Filipino language, nestled in the heart of the slums. Standing steadfast, an island of resilience amidst a sea of hardship, crafted from wood, bamboo, and nipa, the house’s skeletal structure is composed of seasoned wood that bears the weight of years and stories. The wood, weathered by time and elements, carries a patina of age, its grain a roadmap of survival against adversity. Encasing this wooden frame are walls of bamboo, woven together with the precision of a master craftsperson. Each bamboo stalk, standing side by side, mirrors the close-knit community of the slums, individual yet intertwined. The walls, a patchwork quilt of bamboo, provide a shield against the world. Crowning the house is a roof of nipa leaves, a thatched tapestry of nature’s own design. The leaves overlap like scales on a dragon, forming a protective shell against the tropical rain and sun.

One day, in the heart of the mangrove forest, Omar chanced upon a small, black creature. It had four stubby legs, a face and tail elongated like the waning crescent moon, and tiny, pointed fangs that added an intriguing intensity to its tiny form. At first, Omar feigned ignorance, treating the creature’s presence as an illusion. Yet, the persistent creature trailed him like a loyal spaniel, never baring its fangs or displaying any hint of aggression. This unexpected peacefulness made Omar pause, and he cast a speculative glance at the small reptile. A thought fluttered in his mind. Could he adopt this creature? Although void of reason, the thought seemed comforting. As if fate had conspired to make this meeting happen, Omar stumbled upon a small, white plastic container nearby. With a soft sigh, Omar gently bent his knees, lowering himself to the ground. With one hand steady on the container and the other cautiously reaching for the crocodile, he prepared to lift the creature. To his relief, the crocodile remained docile, allowing the boy to gently cradle it into its new home.

Omar diligently fed the crocodile with the fish he caught, oblivious to the weight of the circumstances surrounding his decision to bring it into his humble home. Forgotten were the whispers of caution that echoed through the community—a warning against welcoming such a dreaded creature. The history of tragedies and lives lost to the jaws of crocodiles seemed a distant memory to Omar, submerged beneath his newly found connection with this unconventional companion. As the crocodile became a part of Omar’s life, remarkable changes began to unravel. An unseen tapestry of blessings unfurled before him, woven by the hands of anonymous benefactors. Food materialized in his hands, offered freely by strangers amidst the community. Even financial support, an unimaginable luxury in his past, appeared, easing the burdens that once bore heavily upon his young shoulders. Omar, brimming with joy and gratitude, attributed these blessings to the presence of the crocodile. Little did Omar know, his happiness was not solely derived from his crocodile companion, but also from the ripple effect he had unknowingly set in motion. The act of embracing the despised creature had stirred dormant empathy and generosity from their community, reminding them of the power of compassion and solidarity. The blessings continued to flow, not solely for Omar, but in the awakening of shared humanity within the hearts of those around him.

Years passed, Omar already an 18-year-old, had managed to renovate his house into a sturdier and more resilient kubo. However, he never anticipated that someone would discover the existence of the crocodile residing within his humble abode. One evening, a man roughly four times older than Omar grew envious of the blessings bestowed upon him. Consumed by jealousy, the man found an opportunity to sneak into Omar’s house with the intent to steal. Omar was absent at that time, occupied with the task of procuring a large container to provide a better home for the growing crocodile. The man cautiously entered the house, quietly opening the door. To his astonishment, he was met with a sight that struck him with fear. The crocodile had grown exponentially, now twice the size it was when Omar had adopted it. There was no container to confine it; Omar had allowed the creature to freely roam on the wooden floor. Overwhelmed by shock, the man found himself unable to utter a single word. Shaken to the core, he hastily retreated, leaving the door open, and uttered a single word in the local language, “Buwaya” — a term that means crocodile, filled with terror and alarm.

That fateful night, Omar remained unaware of the harrowing scene he was about to witness. As he glanced outside his home, an unsettling sight greeted him—people had gathered, clutching long, thick, and flat knives, their torches casting an eerie glow. His face drained of color, his heart raced in his chest, and myriad speculations raced through his mind as he stood just a short distance away. He felt a jolt of panic, thoughts racing through his mind. “Had those people discovered the existence of the crocodile? Were they aware that he had been living alongside the creature? The crocodile must have sensed the impending danger, he thought, it must have found a way to escape.” The weight of uncertainty pressed upon him as he contemplated the potential consequences. Questions swirled in his mind, intertwining with fear and apprehension. Had he been exposed? Would he too become a target of their wrath and animosity? Omar’s heart pounded in his chest as he grappled with the unknown fate of both himself and his once-trusted companion.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Omar’s instincts kicked in, urging him to rush toward his house. Pushing past the crowd, he fought his way to the center where a circle of onlookers had formed. His eyes welled up with unshed tears, his hands trembling uncontrollably as he beheld the devastating scene before him. The crocodile, once his cherished companion, bore multiple cruel stabs covering its rear. The ghastly sight tore at Omar’s soul as he struggled to comprehend the cruelty that unfolded before his eyes. A cacophony of voices erupted around him, the crowd unleashing a torrent of hurtful words. Shouts pierced the air, blending with scornful remarks aimed directly at him. They chastised him for his perceived recklessness and immaturity, emphasizing the inherent danger of harboring such a creature. The weight of their condemnation hung heavy in the atmosphere as if every syllable carried the weight of their collective disdain. Yet, amidst the verbal assault, Omar remained resolute, his determination unshaken. Ignoring the vitriol, Omar steadily approached the lifeless body of the crocodile. With tear-stained cheeks and a voice wrought with anguish, he pressed himself against the slain creature, mourning the loss of both a companion and the hope it represented. His hands clutched onto the crocodile’s head, seeking solace and offering a final act of tenderness in the face of overwhelming despair. In this heart-wrenching moment, he allowed himself to release his anguish, grieving loudly for the bond that had been abruptly severed.

Razul A. Ariz

He’s half-sleep while rummaging his phone under the pillow beside his head and snoozes all the ringing alarms he sets before he goes to bed. This is the usual scenario that happens every time he sets the alarm for Fajr’s prayer. They seem battling with his scheduled alarm – whenever the alarm rings, he automatically swipes the snooze button.

Before he sleeps, he conditions himself and plans to do lots of things for the succeeding days but ends up slacking til the sun rises. Thus, he will be waking up with guilt and disappointment from missing intentionally one of his religious obligations – his morning prayer.

That day was a sudden shift from the tide. Long before his alarm was supposed to ring, he woke up as if someone made him do it. As his routine whenever he’s awake, he utters the dua “Alhamdulillahilladhi ahyana ba’da ma-amatana wa ilayhin nushur” – a supplication that offers gratitude to the Almighty for making him awake from his sleep.

For minutes, he stays in a lying position while staring blankly at the ceiling – he thinks about how melancholic life is, as time passes by swiftly yet progress is as torpid as a sloth; he’s exhausted in navigating the essence of life. After he gathered enough courage, he rose from his beddings and the rustling sound of his malung echoed in the dimly lit room.

Thereafter, he fixed his beddings, folded his malung, and put it above the pile of pillows arranged beside the bed headboard. He then grabbed the hanging white thobe behind the door and shook it off to dust any elements in contact with it. There were times, while he was lying on his bed, he felt a bit eerie staring at the spooky figure cast by his hanged thobe as if it was like a mangunsinà sneaking him all the time and perhaps would devour him at any possible moment.

As he walked along the bumpy road toward the masjid, the towering concrete houses were still asleep. A gentle breeze orchestrated by the blinking lights of the fireflies along with the symphonious serenade of crickets greeted him on that dawn which made him clasp his both shoulders as the shudder ran through him. “Hmm, këpya në sënggyup në sámbël ë nya” (hmm, the scent of this breeze is delightful) he mumbled; deep inside he realized how lucky he was for this bare minimum life privilege.

After a short while, the muadhin – the prayer caller, from the distant masjid called the qamat, the second or last call for jamaah before the congregational prayer commences. The line on that qamat saying “hayya alas salah, hayya alal falah” (come to prayer, come to success) gave him a lightbulb moment for his been clamoring for life stability for years without knowing that success is always calling him every day.

As he’s approaching the rusty dilapidated gate eroded by rainy and sunny seasons, the solar street light beside it shuts and paves a melancholic light on his way.

He lifted and swung open the gate which created a clunking sound, echoing on the quiet masjid’s courtyard as its metal panels moved against the hinges. He noticed how long those sagging gate panels covered with worn-out cyclone wire guarding the masjid’s threshold for unnumbered years from the access of stray dogs. He stopped for a while and peeked at the ajar masjid door and the jamaah, perhaps consisting of two, and an Imam about to commence their first raka-ah of salatul Fajr.

In a desire to catch up at the commencement of the prayer, he hastily strode to the washing area: washed his hands simultaneously, gargled water repeatedly, and concluded it by washing his feet. Despite the freezing water, he still managed to finish his ablution in the manner of how it was supposed to be performed. He then hurriedly entered the masjid, uttered the supplication, and proceeded to the saf of the jamaah to pray.

The prayer goes on, and then the imam concludes the congregational prayer by pronouncing “Assalamu alaykum warahmatullah” facing right then left. While, he, as a Masbuq, completes his prayer and stands for his last rakaah. Amid his standing, a spine-chilling breeze sweeps inside the masjid. He suddenly recited out loud melodiously the fatiha and a surah, probably, certain ayahs from surahtul Jin.

As how it ends, the salah concluded with salam and right after that, he read some Dhikr. “Alhamdulillah” he mumbled, painting a curve on his lips as a manifestation of being grateful for his little milestone that day – his salah. He then stood and walked towards the exit and left the masjid.

The imam awaited him outside and tagged along leaving the masjid. Out of concern, he suddenly said “Dátù, umeyka masbuq ta në nya det në mësulën bu i këpëmbátya ta së Fatiha ëndu sëkëb angh” (When we’re masbuq, it is required for us to recite our prayer silently) … “nya tëbya ë di’ ipëdsulën në umeyka ëdën màmum ta” (Not unless, when we have a màmum) he added in a hush and humble tone.

This perplexed him and he didn’t grasp the purpose of why the imam said that. Yet he replied by saying “Uwëy bápa Imam, nëpëngëgyan námi bun i námba së madrasah”(𝘠𝘦𝘴 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘐𝘮𝘢𝘮, 𝘸𝘦’𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘩).

Then, the imam said, “Ah, këgina kë nëpëngëgyan nëngka bun bësën në di’ kë dën pëmbëlumënëy i metu së këgína ëntu kë’ di’ intu pëkëustu.” (I see, since you’ve encountered it in your lesson, you should never repeat how you performed it how a while ago, for it is not accurate).

“Ustu bun mën bási i’ntu bapa Imam, kë ngen pën bësën i ma’mum ku ëntu ë kimëbit së láki këgína. Tu mëngúda ëntu ë nëkëlámbung së mëputi” he explained.” (I think that was accurate bapa Imam, how about that màmum who tapped my shoulder awhile ago – the lad in white lambung).

The imam chuckled and said “mësëbëlëw kë mámbù ë wátà. Sëka bu i másbuq këgína ëntu, da’ dën nëkëtúndug pën së lëka.”(You’re a joker kid. You’re the only masbuq a while ago;no one comes after you) He patted his shoulder and said “Na metu dën ba, tumálus ëku dën.” (Okay, I will go then).

He was left cemented on that road holding his trembling knees as fear enveloped his whole system due to the surge of that horrible information. Yet, after his sanity returned, he uttered to himself while pondering “mëpya pën silán kë pëkëëpas pën pëdsambáyang!” (how fortunate they are for they still dare to pray).

 

Abdulhamid Alawi Jr.

Wedding Songs

Like music trends, maybe we dance to changing customs. Let’s listen to conversations between sisters Aliyah and Aisha and between father and son Amir and Jamil.

Aminah’s Wedding, 1993, Marawi.

Aminah sat quietly, her hands folded on her lap. She tries to gracefully accept the surge of tradition that just defeated her and that none of her siblings, Amir, Aliyah, nor Aisha, fought for her. All rageful emotions dissipated with every tear that dropped. In her fate and of the customs, she tries to find meaning. She sees none. They have rendered her stoic even to the audible chat of her sisters just outside the door.

“How is she?” Aliyah asked the younger Aisha.

“Ate Minah is dressed and resting inside. I locked the door, keys safe in my pocket. The climate is perfect, and I saw so many relatives when I passed by the venue. The music they play is so fitting! Perfect.”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Relatives?”

“Funny, Aish. You’re still bitter about some uncles rejecting your suitor’s marriage proposal. I was referring to the song. Every wedding nowadays plays Kenny G. His are not even songs.”

“Just to clarify, I now hate that suitor too. I realized he did not put much effort into pursuing our family. Our uncles did not accept marriage proposals because I’m the youngest. You and Ate Minah should be sent off first. Is it my fault if I’m the prettiest and in trend? Also, Ate Leah, these saxophone masterpieces are songs. Anyway, thanks to me, it’s the first wedding that plays the new Kenny G song.’

Aisha, always with an ear for the latest fad, tried to infuse the traditional wedding atmosphere with a touch of modernity. Her subtle involvement was her way of pushing against the boundaries set by norms that bored her.

“Many I attended played just ‘Silhouette.’” Aisha continues, “ ‘Breathless’ is such a better match. Everyone’s nervous during weddings.”

At this point, Aliyah bounced in, “They have titles and meanings?! Enough of the music talk. When will the groom’s party arrive?”

“I am not so sure, Ate Leah. Will they fetch her here before or after solemnization?”

“After. You must keep yourself updated with our own culture as you are with the latest showbiz and music. This is how it usually pans out. First, guests wait at the venue. The groom attempts to follow if no male relatives of the bride ask for lantong along the way. If their party satisfies our male cousins and uncles, he may proceed, and the Imam will be there to solemnize by reading the necessary khutba.”

“Then they proceed here?”

“Yes. If he satisfied our demand for luka sa gibbon. If he does, we open her door for him. He then returns to the venue with Ate Minah.”

“How much would you think we’ll receive?”

“Well, male relatives came up with 30,000 for lantong set up at the intersection. We hope to match that.”

“Let me count… 500,000 for dowry given last night, 30,000 for lantong at the road. The most they’ll give us for luka sa gibbon here at her room is 20,000. A fitting total from the groom’s family: 550,000. Just right for our family stature.”

“Here they come.”

“Update. Auntie got to them first at the main door and claimed our luka sa gibbon for us ladies. We will just have to open Minah’s door.”

“Haha, they gave in at the first door. I knew the groom did not want his relatives to wait long at the venue. Let’s all go in and get her.”

“Okay, go! But let’s go in first.”

“Oh my, her eyes are so swollen.”

“What do you expect? It’s her first time to meet her groom. Stupid custom.”

“They say it’s Islam.”

“Not!”

“Well, it’s fate. Isn’t acceptance of Qadr a key to piety?”

“Maybe, but the consent. Far from Islamic rules on consent that I know.”

“Luka sa gibbon isn’t part of our faith, but you’re okay with it?”

“Stop it. Let’s just offer dua and prayers for Minah.”

“May our sister be happy. Ameen.”

“It’s probably her fault too. Why would she reject so many proposals in the last five years when she was almost 30?”

“We have expiry dates?”

“She is even lucky that the handsome groom our uncles picked is from a great lineage and related to the Governor. One uncle even said that her name, Aminah, was fated to be entrusted with our clan through her children. Her children will be okay.”

“May Allah bless our Ate Minah.”

“Ameen, Ate Leah. Let the groom in.”

Jamilah’s Wedding, 2003, Iligan.

“Were it not for Aminah, there would not be any wedding! This event stomps on my pride,” Amir shouted at his son Jamil, who was on guard along the road. “Why were they so in a hurry for all of these?”

Somehow, Amir felt that he was a victim to Aminah’s newfound power in the family. It’s as if Aminah came back in rebellion against her family, and he had to bear the brunt of it. He looks back to his possible role in her wedding. If there was any at all, it was minuscule, he thinks to himself. Aminah should not have crossed him.

“Calm down, Abi. Auntie Minah feared that if Ismael and Jamilah were not wed sooner, there was a higher probability that another suitor from closer relatives might win over your favor. She knows how Jamilah would be devastated if she’s wed to anyone else. M&Ms was fated to happen, they said.”

“M&Ms?”

“Nicknames of the groom and bride. Mael and Mila,” Jamil addressed his father’s confusion.

“How about my Maratabat as a father? Who gave Jamilah that Nokia anyway, Jam? The boy got to her with those texts. I guarded your sister well.”

“Ate Mila needed the phone. It was easier to pick her up at school. We were not giving her load, but the guy gave her load cards even after graduation. He kept calling too.”

No matter how large or little the issues raised by his dad, Jamil tries to patiently respond as a good son trying to comfort a distressed elder. He thinks to himself, how could Jamilah do this to their father? Jamil understood his father’s pain, the sting of perceived dishonor.

“Aminah with these wedding decisions and plans. What has happened to our society? We have Aminah and Jamilah deciding now. I lose face at male relatives noticing that she’s calling the shots. She sure has learned how to leverage her husband’s influence over me. Have you seen her husband?”

“He’s doing well at the venue, welcoming everyone. Guests will be looking for him, the Governor’s first cousin. I’m sorry if things are not going exactly as you want it, Abi. Aunt Aminah told me clan matters are balanced with negotiations and concessions.”

In the years that passed, Aminah, not being able to have her own children, helped take care of Jamilah. She saw Jamilah as her own daughter. “My Milah,” as she calls her, was vibrant and full of life. She also saw a reflection of her own once-dormant hopes.

Aminah was not able to plan her own destiny, but in the weaving of Jamilah’s story, she had altered the pattern of their family’s tapestry. It was a bittersweet victory, the knowledge that her sacrifice had borne fruit in the happiness of another. The negotiations had been delicate, a balancing act of respect and subtle defiance. She thought she was able to put into good use the influence of her husband’s family. Aminah had worked the threads of tradition with a gentle hand, advocating for Jamilah’s right to choose, to love, over her father’s high standards and pride.

“When is the groom’s convoy arriving?” Amir impatiently snaps. “At least I get some recompense after this insult.”

“You should be at the venue, father. The Governor and the Congressman may arrive anytime.”

“They will attend? Alhamdulillah. I can rush down to the venue after this. It’s barely 50 meters away via the footpath. Cars will have to go around the curve. I came up here to check on you, my son. Why would you lead the lantong stakeout?”

“To fortify our stand, father. The groom’s dad relayed they won’t hand in anything more than 20,000.”

“What?! Wait until we show them my baby ArmaLite.”

“Abi, we can’t brandish that here.”

“Because we’re in Iligan! Another stupid decision from Aminah. For all we know, they may not even give any and then be allowed to pass. Custom is dying. It is not about the money. We lose the prestige; we lose proving our worth.

“Here we go again. Abi, she just didn’t want another arranged marriage. She said she cried a bucket during her own wedding. She cried more when both ustad and lawyer friends advised her against backing out.”

“Indeed, at that time then Minah thought her being enrolled in law school could save her, huh? No number of friends can stop fate. How about you, when will the school year start?”

“In a week.”

“Let’s take something from this waiting along the road with my giving some words of wisdom. My dear son, we have cultural weight.”

“By weight, you mean value?” Jamil quickly chances on the favorable change in topic.

“Blood is influence. Your looks count. People’s impression of your religiosity counts. Continue the kind gestures and magnanimity we teach you because those are important. Choose an amiable wife. Your affluence is estimated by our properties and, more importantly, your job or on finishing law school after high school and college. These and many other factors will be the basis for how our clans will weigh you, my dear golden boy.”

“My weight. Lineage, looks, faith, manners, spouse, and whether I become a lawyer?”

“There are no clear-cut rules and basis. Some say there is Hadith on those, and I see practicality in them. For me, patience with relatives and being giving helped me a lot in life. Allah blessed me through my support to them. Relatives give back kindness. Just keep those in mind as you mature. A lot of those you’ll pass to your wife and the children she will bear for you.”

“Yes, I was born for you…”

“Why are you suddenly singing?!”

“And the choice was never ours…”

“Stop this haram song!”

This time, his father’s intensely shrieking voice was harder to appease. His father’s issue now has gone to the level of his act of singing. As he stopped himself, a realization dawned on him. The traditions that held his father captive were the very chains he also probably could break. The thought of his own future, potentially shackled by the same expectations, started a seed of self-determination in his heart.

“Sorry, I can hear the wedding song from here. This David Pomeranz song reminds us of our culture’s concept on Kuris, makes it easier for arranged spouses to process their situation. Plus, I remember you singing ‘King and Queen of Hearts’ with a guitar years back. I heard that song too played earlier.”

“That was long ago, son. New ulama relatives have guided me to abhor songs that destroy our youth. Maybe going back to instruments and flute songs during Aminah’s wedding can make this wedding less cursed.”

“The lyrics worry you?”

“For most songs, the lyrics are immoral.”

Jamil’s Wedding, 2013, Cagayan de Oro.

“These Maher Zain songs and lyrics are perfect! Baraka Allahu lakuma wa Baraka ‘alaykuma wa Jama’a baynakuma fi…”

“Goodness, stop!” Aliyah interrupted Aisha’s humming.

Aisha’s face quickly turned reddish. Her mood changed from being inspired to being annoyed by the sudden scolding. She was motivated because of her earlier interaction with the venue manager on songs to play. She was drawn to him and found a kindred spirit in him who knew a lot about music too. This wedding seemed to serve as a turning point for Aisha. Her interaction with him was liberating, a realization that while her family’s traditions formed the backdrop of her life, they did not need to dictate her many decisions in life. She is still single after all these years.

Aisha retorts, “Why stop the Islamic song? Are you a haram police now like Kuya Amir?”

“No Nasheed will match this wedding! No Islamic lyrics will fit. Why are we marrying kids who eloped?! People assume zina!” Aliyah fired back.

“Because we’re tired of rido, Ate. We are lucky the girl’s family didn’t tie Jamil to a tree and slaughter him. Those acts can very well fall into acceptable vendetta for running away with a girl. It helped that Ate Aminah’s husband is related to the bride’s family.”

“What do we have to thank Aminah for? She started this! She spoiled Amir’s daughter, Jamilah. Now the son has gone berserk.”

“Jamil will manage. He said he will still pursue his studies in law as his father wished. Minah may have started it for our family, but many clans have the same issues. Times have changed indeed. We can’t control kids nowadays. We just hope Kuya Amir will soon reconcile with his son.”

Jamil, sitting on stage, is on the brink of his own wedding. However, it is one that bore no resemblance to the ones his father could have envisioned for him. Jamil felt the weight of his decision. He had chosen love over tradition, his heart over his family’s honor. The knowledge of his father’s hurt pressed heavily. Jamil wrestled with his guilt and his conviction.

Jamil consoles himself that he has made the right choice. This was not just a union of two hearts; it was a statement of change, a declaration that tradition can give way to the right to choose love at times. He will be assured of himself more every time he will gaze at his lovely bride who is about to sit next to him in a few minutes.

“Who is this girl anyway? I don’t know many of her relatives.” Aliyah, asks Aisha, wanting to investigate the new member of the family. “The narration of lineage has gone from an hour of enumeration in past weddings to just a few lines of speech now. I heard from someone they had Chinese blood.”

“We look more Chinese with her morena skin,” Aisha giggly replies. “Did you know she sent him very private photos of her online? She is so into texts, chats, and meet-ups. Young girls now are exposing themselves too much. Technology is not so much a boon as it is a bane. Fits her stature that her dowry includes everything. Wedding costs, luka sa gibbon, and lantong. I see it as one simple package for her worth. That is a lot less worry for us on being held up along the road and not being able to enter her room when Jamil fetches her after solemnization.”

“There will be no fetching at all. She will be here at the venue a few moments after  Jamil, her father, and the solemnizing officer have exchanged words. How convenient.”

“Convenient for us from the groom’s side.”

“But many from our side can’t attend. They are complaining about Cagayan. It seems we get farther away from our hometown in every wedding.”

“Most protests to this wedding are from those based in Marawi. The farther we are, the lesser the issues. We have enough relatives who made it. I know we must have the right mix of clan families as witnesses. I don’t know if it’s really God who blesses the matrimony or the clan presence.”

“Do you know who convinced the bride’s relative that we need not hand to them separate amounts for lantong and luka sa gibbon?”

“Aminah?”

“Nope. The religious cousins of both the bride and groom. One simple Mahr is what they requested. The simplicity of our religion worked to our advantage.”

“All these changes, I hope our practices change for the better.”

“As great as Maher Zain lyrics, Aish?”

“Yes, Ate Leah. Now can I go back to listening to him? I told the cute manager of this venue, who added me on Facebook, to make sure to play ‘For the Rest of My Life’ before the night expires.”

Anna Rahma Usman Sarip

I arose from my sleep feeling the morning heat of the sun on my face. With all the things that kept me up last night, maybe I forgot to close my window. I do not feel like going out of my bed, unsure of what will happen to me now. It finally came, the day I was dreading to come. What my parents had said to me last month made me feel like they dropped a bomb on me. I never thought that they would come to this decision. A decision they did not even bother to ask me or hear my two cents about it. This was to be expected, but I never knew it could be this early. I understand that this thing happens way, way back, and is a part of our tradition. What makes me sad is that I do not want this to happen this early. I still want to do a lot of things and achieve more, I want to travel and accomplish things that I want before I enter that world.

I was waking up from my thoughts when I heard a knock on my door. “Rima, it’s time to wake up. You must get ready too.” My momma said.

“I’m awake,” I replied. “It’s not long before they arrive, I want you ready before that.” “Okay, Ma.” I said, staring into the pair of earrings sitting on my study table.

Today will be my wedding day. A month ago, when my parents told me how they wanted me to marry this guy. They told and promised me how this guy was perfect for me and how good he was as a person and said that we’d get along well. I was yet unmoving from where I was standing, not believing what they said. It won’t register in my mind. It was when my momma went near me and held my face that I knew I was crying. I guess my momma resonates with me, “Do not cry, Rima. We’re doing this for your own good.” “B-but this is not what I want…” It was then my father who told me that his decision would not change. I knew what to do than to break whatever my father wanted as he and his words ruled the house.

The following week after my parents talked to me, they then arranged a meeting for me and the man I was supposed to be wedded to. My momma told me that it’s a way for us to get acquainted with each other. I didn’t have the heart to say no. I did what they wanted me to do.

I went to meet the man at a mall, where we were supposed to spend the rest of the day. I was told by my father that he already had my digits and that he’d message me. It was then when I was inside the vehicle on my way that I received a message that said, “It’s me, Jawad. I’m here waiting for you. Message me when you arrive.” I was mesmerized by the way he texts. “Okay, I’ll be there in a few,” I replied. Minutes after I arrived I texted him. He told me that he was waiting near the entrance. I was thinking why he didn’t wait for me inside, it made me a lot more anxious. It was not hard to recognize him as I already saw what he looked like when my momma showed me his picture before. He was there standing looking seriously intimidating, yet when he noticed me, his whole facade changed. He smiled at me; I was so close to turning my back because of how nervous I was. He walked towards me smiling so big, making me wonder if I looked funny in his eyes or what.

“Hi, Jawad.” He said, extending his hand, wanting to shake hands. “Rima.”. The deafening silence was so loud after that. I was startled when he asked me “Where do you want to go?” “You? Where should we go first?” I replied.

“Should we eat first before doing anything? I’m sure you must be hungry.” Jawad said.

“Sure.” I then replied.

After we sat down, he then proceeded to ask me basic questions, and I realized that this was his way of knowing me better. “I’m guessing you’re a college student now, right?” he asked. “Yeah, in my last year actually,” I replied. “Wow, then you must be very busy huh?” “Yes, I’ve been working on my final paper. After that, I’m done.” “Do you need help though? Maybe I could offer you some help?” he said. “Thank you, but I can carry. I’m close to finishing it. I don’t think that you know something about my paper knowing how different it is from what you finished.” “Even though, maybe I could do something to make it somehow easier for you.” He said laughing. I smiled and said, “I’ll let you know if there is.” The food arrived and we ate, he would say something from time to time and I did my best to reply and engage in the conversation with him. “What should we do after this?” I asked Jawad after we were done eating. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he replied. “That’s okay let’s go. Maybe an interesting movie is available.” I spoke.

The timing was great, the ticket for the new Avatar movie was available and we agreed to watch that. During the time we spent watching that movie, I had known him better. The way he laughed, what made him laugh, the things he liked and disliked, and the things he told me made me appreciate him. Made me think that he really wanted this to work out so maybe I’ll do the same also. Let’s leave the regrets to the future.

Before parting ways, he made me wait at the food court excusing himself. I waited, spending my time scrolling on my social media account to entertain myself. It wasn’t long before he arrived. With him is a paper bag from a famous jewelry store. “I hope you will accept what I bought for you,” Jawad said. “What is it?” I asked. “Earrings” he simply said. “Why would you give me earrings though?” I questioned. “No reason. I just felt like it.” He replied. “Aww, that’s so nice of you. Thank you for this. I appreciate it.” I smiled at him. “It’s no biggie.” he smiled back, handing me the paper bag. “If only I knew, I could have bought you something too.” I said to him which he replied by smiling and saying, “Maybe in the future, I’ll gladly accept it.”

We were walking out of the mall when he offered to take me home. I agreed. We were silent the whole duration of the ride. It was when we arrived at our house that he said something to me. “I am hoping you will want to continue this as much as I want it too.” What he said made me picture something very abrupt, an image of us and the family we’ll have. “Let’s see. I’ll see you soon.” I replied, smiling at him. He was a successful man; I do not understand how he wants to marry me who has yet to achieve something in life.

Everything was ready, with the help of both our parents. I decided to just hold a simple ceremony with only a few people invited to witness it. The place, decorated with a mixture of yellow and red, was the only thing that I involved myself with during the preparation for the wedding. Because for me, it somehow reminded me of the Sarimanok. How different our fate in life is, unlike the bird; I do not have the freedom to really decide for myself. Not that I did not want this to happen, but I am happy that I’m here, getting ready to marry the man whom I wish to spend the rest of my life with.

The people who would help me get ready arrived; everyone was so busy walking from here to there. The whole house was in an uproar. My cousins were flocking to the room where I was getting ready saying something my mind could not comprehend at that time. I was in turmoil, busy with my own emotions. I had made my decision days before. I wanted to give him a chance, maybe what my parents said was true. This is what’s best for me.

Wearing a dress with an intricate design that my momma helped me pick, with my veil in a turban style, I requested my veil to be styled that way because I wanted to wear the earrings Jawad gave me. I wanted him to see me wearing it as a sign that I also wanted this. That I am accepting him as he accepted me long before as his wife-to-be.

I was sitting on my bed, with my girl cousins with me waiting for Jawad to knock on the door. I couldn’t exactly describe how I felt; sure, I was happy, but at the same time I felt anxious, but the feeling of excitement was through the roof. Everyone was talking when suddenly, we heard a knock. Him, entering with his entourage wearing a simple yet formal-looking white coat and his white dress shirt and slacks, oh if only you could see what I am seeing. I guess it’s time. We did the rites successfully, and now we’re walking through the middle aisle. “You’re wearing the earrings,” Jawad whispered.  “Yeah,” I said. “Are you happy?” I asked him. “Yeah, over the moon.” He replied. “I’m glad, I’m happy too,” I said looking at him, smiling so wide.

Looking back to a month ago, I was so unsure of how things would unfold. Thankfully, things unfolded well. I’m here with him, spending our days happily with each other. We promised that we’ll make everything work, that we’ll talk things out. We won’t sleep with a misunderstanding left unresolved. I am happy with how my relationship with him is progressing and I hope he feels the same. I cannot wait to see how things will unfold in the future too. I guess we will leave those things to the Almighty above.

Sharmida M. Mawan

Aku hi Alidjan. Adlaw ini myabut in ummul ku kawhaan’. Alhamdulillah myabut aku ha adlaw ini, bang ku pagtumtumun in mga adlaw piyaglabayan namuh maglanyap tuud in jantung ku, pasal in mga liyabayan amura kuman in panumtuman ta sin waktu awal jaman.

Byaun yari aku limilingkud ha duhul sin jambatan kahuy. Imaatud ha suga limilid daing ha duhul sin dagat. Ha hulah ini aku limaggu, ha hulah ini kami piyag-anak katan magtaymanghud. Ha Maimbung, bang hain nagtagnah in katan.

Lima kami mag-ahli’. Hi Amah ku in ngan hi Jul-asiri, in kyabulatan ku kanya in siya magiistah. Hi Inah ku isab in ngan nya hi Satra, in hinang nya isab magtabid lubid ha bay. Awn aku duwa manghud, hi Alimar iban hi Almansar. Usug kami katan magtaymanghud.

Limagguh kami ha sigpit. Hayyy. Bang ku hikapagkissah in katan sin lyabayan namuh mag-ahli’ bang kita timagna sin Muharram matalus kita sin Dhul-Hijja. Sah awn hambuuk kissa namuh mag-ahli’ mayah ku tuud hi lilay kanyu. Amun kissa hi amah iban bangka-bangka nya.

In bay namuh sin waktu yadtu ha lawm dagat sah masuuk da sab pa higad, hinang ha kahuy iban patung, timitindug ha lawm dagat, awn manahut kusina, in lawm bay amuna in pagtutugan namuh, iban pantan amuna in paghahalihan iban pagtatahayan hi Inah istah.

Hambuuk mahapun kita ku hi Inah namamanduga ha pantan namuh imaatud pa malayuh. In pangilahan ku bang byaini na in pangatud hi inah, awn na sab problema namuh. Ha waktu ini maraiyh Unum tahun pa aku. Pagka bihadtu hi Inah, pyakusina aku. Pagkitah ku hangkapansing dakuman in bugas ha baldi-baldi iban wayruun na mussak massik ha kusina. Hangkanda sab hatiku hi Inah nasusa. Gimuwa na aku.

Mga lisag upat na sin mahapun. Pagguwa ku, yaun na hatih hi Amah ha pantan, nagbibissara kan Inah. Nanaynghug aku sin piyagbibissarahan nila.

“Dang, wayruun da kiyabayaran in istah diya ku kahapun, wayruun pa kunuh masi nakauwih in tagdapu sin buriga” lawng hi Amah.

“Sah ayaw na ba kaw masusa, pa-lawd na aku bat da aku makasuruy, hatih makapanabuh kita” lawng pa hi Amah.

Simambung sab hi Inah, “Ayaw na ba Dang, atud ba kaw sin dagat yan byah mahangin hangin, pagkwan maalun ha lawd”

“Alla Dang, ayaw na ba kaw magsusa, dih man aku magpalawm dum. Madtu na aku ha? Ayaw mu man patuga in mga anak ta dih makaun. Tagari nyu aku” Ampa nanaug hi Amah, nagtuud sin bangka-bangka nya manahut pa dagat, masi masi ra siya iyaatud hi Inah.

Myabut mayan in Maghrib, way naman masi nakauwih hi Amah. Pag-ubus simambahayang hi Inah, limingkud na siya ha pagtatabiran nya lubid. In pagtabid hi Inah lubid magtipun siya karut ampa husayun, pagubus tabirun hinangun lubid, bang humaba na hidagang nya na pa tabuh. Amu sab ini in usaha hi Inah.

“Byah lyugayan hi Amah nyu yan. Kari kaw kunuh Alidjan, hugasi na in mga manghud mu bat yari pa aku naghihinang” Tiyawag aku hi Inah sahbu aku nagbubuhi tanju bat da awn ilaw ha pantan namuh.

Timindug na aku ampa ku kiyawah in mga maghud ku, hiyugasan ku na karuwa ampa giyantian tamungun. Simung man in jam, myabut na in waktu Isha. Timindug na hi Inah ha hinang nya ampa siya nagsambahayang.

Way hijjul hi inah daing sin dyuman na hi Amah ha lawd. Kaingatan ku nasusa hi Inah bat bang hi Amah magiyan dih siya maglugay, dih tuud siya magpalugay.

Pagubus naman hi Inah nagsambahayang, pya-kusina na siya nagbuhih kayu. Ampa niya mistang in hangkapansing bugas nakakapin ha baldi-baldi. Masi ra way hijjul hi Inah. In aku isab iipat ku in mga manghud ku.

Mga lisag walu na sin dum, byutangan na kami hi Inah. Tu’ lay mistang iyaasinan. Kiyawah hi Inah in kamanghuran namuh ampa syungitan. Aku isab in nagpakaun ha manghud ku hambuuk, kimaun da sab aku sibuh. Masih ra way naka-uwi hi Amah.

Pag-ubus namuh kimaun. hiyanigan na hi Inah sin baluy in lawm bay. Masih ra way nakakauwih hi Amah daing ha lawd. Piyatug na hi Inah in duwa manghud ku. Bisan aku patugun na hi Inah sah lawng ku ibanan ku naa siya magtagad kan Amah.

Lingkuran balik hi Inah in lubid nya, ampa siya nagtabid sah way limugay mga tunga’ jam. Timindug siya ampa dya in tanju’ pa pantan ampa limingkud ha duhul sin pantan, biyababa in siki.

“Hawnu na baha hi Amah mu ini Alidjan. Lisag hangpu’ na sin dum way naman masi naka-uwi” Lawng hi Inah sin limingkud aku ha daig niya. In dagat imalun-alun na daing sin kaina. In hangin magdagpak pa bay namuh byah sin paglubakun in bay.

Wayruun aku nakasambung kan Inah bat biyah in liug ku nalapat sin buhangin tibuuk.

Hangkaraiyh pa awn na timuh ha babaw uh ku. Nagbubunuk na, pagubus kimusug na in ulan. Simud na kami kan Inah bat landuh tuud in kusug sin ulan, sah hi Inah limingkud da ha lawang namuh harap pa pantan. Iyatud ku hi Inah. In luha niya nagtagna na timuh.

Way aku mahinang bang bukun umatud kan Inah. Makusug in ulan, mabasag in alun. Hi Amah masih ha lawd isa-isa. Subay yadtu ibanan ku hi Amah, lawng sin utuk ku nagbibissara isa isa.

Pagatud ku sin lilus namuh ha uhan, lisag hambuuk na sin tungah dum. Hi inah masih naglilingkud ha lawang pantan, in ulan masi makusug. In tanjuh namuh napung na bat naubus na in gas.

Sah bisan haluk na in mga manghud ku, wayruun panayu sin kasusahan namuh kan Inah, masih aku dih makatug sin susa kan Amah iban ulung kan Inah.

“Ya Allah, lappasi tuud in bana ku ha unu-unu aramala. Ya Rabbi, tabanga tuud aku” Dyungug ku hi Inah nagduduwaa. Amu-amura yan in iyaamutan nya daing kaina.

Mga lisag duwa-tungah. Kimuh na in ulan, bunuk bunuk dakuman. Pag-atud ku kan Inah, nakatug naglilingkud sin hapus ha pagtangisan hatiku. In aku isab naglilingkud da ha raig sin mga manghud ku natutug.

Pag-atud ku kan Inah, nakajungkat sin awn nagtawag kanya.

“Dang! Dang! Ukabi ba aku. Batih pa ka kamu?” HI AMAH NAKAUWIH NA!!

Nakatuhlid in tindug hi Inah ampa us-us pyu-as in lawang namuh. Gyulgul niya hi Amah, in luhah nya masi timutuh.

“Alhamdulillah, nakauwih kaw!” Lawng hi Inah. Pagatud ku kan amah, basah-basaan in tamungun, na lihdup in baran nya sin tubig.

“Ayaw na ba kaw magsusa Dang, nakauwih na aku” Pagatud ku kan Inah, nakanapas na sya maraw.

Nanghaplas na hi Amah, hi Inah nagpasuh tubig bat da makainum hi Amah kahawa.

In aku kimulang na bat da sila karihilan waktu karuwa, sah masi aku wayruun natug. Nangdurungug dungug aku sin suwara nila karuwa.

“Maytah kaw Dang apit na adlawan? Nasusa tuud aku kaymu.” Lawng hi Inah sin limingkud na siya, diyara in kahawa hi Amah.

“Amuna sadtu Dang, awn aku pyagbak tau ha lawd” tagna hi Amah ha bissara niya. “Sin imalun-alun na, wayruun aku masi nakasasaggaw istah, lawng ku muwih na aku. Sakali awn aku kitah batah-batah babai ha lawd, simasagnat ha patung patung. Siyuuk ku magtuy bisan maalun. Pag-atud ku masi buhih in batah-batah babai, tiyabang ku magtuy ampa piya-inum tubig maraw. Sakali in siya kunuh hiyulug ha bangka iyaagaran niya, magpahatud tuud kakuh pa puh ngyanan nya. In puh ngyanan nya yattu dih ku tuud kaingatan, sah lawng niya kaingatan niya ra byariin makaabut madtu. Bisan ma-alun Dang, imulung aku ha babai yadtu. Sah in makainu inu, byah dugaing dugaing in pais nya yadtu Dang.” Himigup hi Amah sin kahawa niya lubug, hi Inah masih dimurungug sin isturi hi Amah.

“Magkahagad kaw Dang, in pais sin babai, yadtu byah mussah kaagi. Putih ampa byah mag-inggat. In buhuk nya makainu-inu ra sab. Itum tuud. Sah sobra in haba. In kyainu-inuhan ku tuud kanya yadtu Dang. Pagsakat niya naman pa bangka, maytah biya timahay siya magtuy. In badju niya biya putih kakanah.” Sugpat hi Amah ha suwara niya.

“Sah bisan biyah kandi-kandi in babai yadtu, masih ku kyuwayan in bangka ha lawd. Siya in magbabaytah sin datungan namuh. Mga tunga’ jam na hatiku aku nagkuway sin bangka, awn na puh kitah ku. In puh yadtu Dang, manahut da. Sah bang ku aturun, mataud tau nagtitindug ha daig dagat. Landuh in sawa sin puh yadtu. Sibuh katan in panamung nila putih, hangkapaisan sila iban sin batah-batah babai hiyatud ku yadtu. Dimatung mayan kami pa higad dagat, piyanaug aku sin babai malaas, siya kunuh in Inah sin babai hiyatud ku. Byaytaan na siya sin anak nya sin hyulug siya sin mga iban nya ha bangka kaina, iban sin bahasa aku in nakaput iban timabang kanya. Simuuk kakuh Dang in Inah sin babai yadtu ampa syapu in daghal ku pagubus dih ku tuud kalupahan in iyan kakuh, lawng nya, “Katan sin sigpit mu puasun sin Tuhan, in lanuh sin atay mu byah sin lanuh sin barakat dumatung kaymu. Uwih na kaw pa anak asawa mu, ayaw kaw maglingih, Dumatung da kaw pa daratungan mu” Hi Inah masi dimurungug kan Amah.

“Nanaykud na aku Dang, ampa ku tyuud in bangka-bangka pa dagat. Hinang ku in iyagi kakuh sin babai yadtu, way aku limingih. Sah kiyananaman ku tuud, nalawah sila paggiik ku naman pa dagat, nalawah da sab katan sin ilaw ha puh, sah way tuud aku naglingih. Nalawah na in alun, iban himundung na in ulan. Pagsayu ku dimatung na aku mari pa bay, wayruun ku kiyaalimatahan” Pagtalus hi Amah ha kissa niya bang unu in jimatu kanya ha lawd.

Wayruun ku na kiyasayuhan bang unu naman in piyagbissarahan nila karuwa, bat nakatug na aku. In atay ku makuyag na.

Pag maynaat, kiyublaan aku byah awn hiluhala ha sawm bay. Pagtaynghug ku hi Amah nagtatawag kan Inah.

“Dang! Dang! Kasay ba kaw, kitaa ba bang unu in ha lawm sin bangka-bangka ku ini!” Ulak hi Amah kan Inah. Kitah ku hi Inah nagus-us myabah pa hagdan, hi amah ha lawm dagat na tubtub pa tuhud niya nagaatud ha bangka-bangka niya. In aku isab simisib ha utlang-utlang sin lantay namuh.

“Allahu Akbar! Dang, mussah sayan!” Sambag hi Inah. Pagatud ku pa bangka-bangka hi Amah, mattan twi sin nabud mussah. Nahipuh in bangka-bangka hi Amah sin mussah dugaing dugaing in warnah iban dugaing dugaing in lagguh. Wayruun panayuh ku amuna twi yadtu in maynaat gumantih sin kabuhih namuh mag-ahli. Barakat sin Allah labay daing ha atay putih.

In mga mussah yadtu in nagpabahgu ha dagan sin kabuhi namuh. Nakaiskul na aku ha Tiyanggi. Sampil mga manghud ku. Sampay na nakabi kami bay batu’ ha Tiyanggi. Hi Inah nakatabang na ha mga panaiban nya magtatabid lubid. Awn na sila tampat paghihinangan sapantun factory lawng sin Bahasa Anggalis. In bay namuh ha Maimbung napahugut na. Dih na kami pagkatahayan bugas iban mussak massik ha kusina, makakaun n in mga manghud ku maraw makatu’ hangka-adlaw. Iban in landuh mahalga ha katan, dih na mapugus hi Amah pa lawd mangistah bisan ma-alun iban mahangin. Awn na usaha hi Amah ha lupa bukun na hat ha dagat, masi usaha halal. Nakapahinang na hi Amah malalagguh bangka hipagpausal nya ha mga daig bay namuh tagna pagusahahan. In bangka-bangka hi Amah bukun na hat manahut, malagguh na. sah masi ra in bangka-bangka nya pyapakay sampil pabihaun.

Na! Amu yadtu in kissah kissah ku kanyu ha byaun sahbu aku kimakaun patulakan ha jambatan kahuy masuuk pa bay namuh dii ha Maimbung. Ikaw? Unu in kissa mu?

 

My Father’s Small Boat

 

I am Alidjan. Today, I turned 20. Alhamdulillah, I reached this day. Whenever I remember the days that we passed through, I feel like my heart wrenches, because experiences are the only remembrance of the older times.

Now I am sitting on the edge of a wooden port. Looking at the sun setting on the horizon. This is the place where I grew up, the place where all of me and my siblings were born and raised. In Maimbung, where everything started.

We are five in the family. My father, Jul-asiri, whom I have known since birth, is a fisherman. My mother, Satra, whose work is to make ropes out of old sacks which she does at home. And my two brothers, Alimar and Almansar.

We grew up in a tight situation. Hayyyy. If only I could tell you every story of what we went through as a family and started in January, we would probably finish in December. But there’s one story about my family I want to tell you. The story of my father and what happened to him and his small boat.

Our home at that time was built on the sea but near the docks. It was made of wood and bamboo, had a small kitchen, a living space that was where we also slept as a family, and a roofless space outside where my mom rested and hung dry fish.

One afternoon, I saw my mother sitting idly in the roofless space, looking afar. My observation is that every time my mother does this, it only means we have a problem. Around this time maybe I was six years old. Seeing my mother like that, I went to the kitchen. I saw that we only had one cup of rice left in the container and had no other groceries available. Right then, I realized what the problem was. I then went outside the kitchen.

It was maybe four in the afternoon. When I went outside, my father was already there with my mother, they were talking to each other. I eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Dang (their endearment), the fish I brought to the market yesterday is still not paid because the owner’s worker said he is still not back,” my father said.

“But don’t worry, I will go and fish so I can sell. After that we can go to the market,” my father added.

My mother answered, “Don’t go Dang, look at the sea, it’s windy. Maybe the waves are strong.”

“Dang, don’t worry about me, I won’t be long and late. I will go now, ok? Just don’t let our kids sleep without eating. Wait for me.” My father then went down, and pushed his small boat to the sea, while my mother was still looking at him going far.

When the time reached Maghrib, my father still did not come back. After my mother prayed, she sat where she twisted ropes. My mother gathered some old sacks and disassembled them and made a rope out of them, when it was long enough to sell, she brought it to the market. This is the job of my mother.

“You’re father seems to be taking too long. Alidjan, come here. Help me wash your brothers. I still need to finish this,” My mother called me while I was in the roofless space lighting up the torch.

I went and took my brothers and washed them both and changed their clothes. When hours passed, Eisha time came. My mother went and prayed her Eisha.

My mother has been silent ever since the night came and my father has still not come back. I know my mother is worried because if my father says he will not be late, he will not come home late no matter what.

Right after my mother finished her prayers, she went to the kitchen and lit up the fire. She cooked the remaining one cup of rice and made porridge, one that had no other ingredients but water. My mother was still silent while I was playing with my two little brothers.

8:00 at night came, my mother prepared the food. Three plates of porridge which she seasoned with salt. My mother took our youngest brother and fed him. I, on the other hand, fed my other brother while feeding myself. My father was still not home.

After we ate, my mother laid the sleeping mat where we slept. My father was still not home from the sea. My mother took my brothers to sleep. I was even told to sleep but I said I would be with her to wait for my father.

My mother then went back to twisting rope, however, not long enough she stood and brought the torch outside and went to the roofless space. She sat on the edge of the space, her feet hanging.

“I am wondering where your father might be, Alidjan. It is 10:00 already, he hasn’t still come back,” my mother said when I sat beside her. The sea waves were getting stronger than earlier. The wind was hitting the house like it was scolding it.

I was not able to answer my mother because it felt like my throat was blocked by lumps of sand.

Not long after, I felt something dripping on my head. The rain started to pour hard.  I looked at my mother. Tears started to fall from her eyes.

I couldn’t do anything but look at my mother. It was raining cats and dogs, and the waves below were strong. My father is still at sea alone. I should’ve gone with my father, my brain said, talking to itself.

When I looked at our clock, it was already 1 am. My mother was still sitting by the door, the rain was still pouring hard. The torch died because it already run out of gas.

But even when my brothers were sleeping soundly unaware of my mother’s and my worries, I still couldn’t sleep worrying about my father, and pitying my mother.

“Ya Allah, please save my husband from any harm. Ya Rabbi, help me please,” I heard my mother praying. She kept on repeating the same words.

2:30 am came. The rain started to drift slowly. When I checked my mother, she fell asleep sitting tired from crying, I guess. I sat beside my sleeping brothers.

When I looked at my mother, she was startled when someone called her.

“Dang! Dang! Can you open the door? Are you still awake?,” MY FATHER IS FINALLY HOME!

My mother immediately stood straight and went to unlock the door. She hugged my father, tears still falling from her eyes.

“Alhamdulillah, you’re home!” My mother said. When I glanced at my father, his clothes were dripping wet, and himself as well.

“Stop worrying Dang, I am already home.” My father said to my mother lovingly, my mother finally was able to breathe fine.

My father washed up while my mother went to heat up water so that my father could drink black coffee.

I laid beside my brothers to give them time to talk to each other, but I still did not sleep. I listened to their conversation while laying down with my brothers.

“Dang, what tool you so long it’s almost morning? I was so worried,” my mother said as she sat beside my father and handed my father his coffee.

“That’s is so, Dang. I met someone at the sea,” my father started his story. “When the waves started to get stronger and I was still not able to catch any fish, I decided to come home already. But I saw a small girl floating in the sea. She is hooked up to a bamboo. I went near her to check and she is still alive. I helped her immediately and made her drink clean water. She started telling me what happened. According to her, she was pushed from the boat she was in. She wants me to take her to her island. I do not know the island she came from, but she said she knows how to get there. Even though the waves were strong Dang, I felt pitiful of the little girl. But something was not right with her, her skin was different.” My father sipped his black coffee, my mother still listened to his story carefully.

“You will not believe it Dang, her skin was like a pearl. White and reflects the light like a pearl. Her hair was different as well. Pitch black but very long. And the thing I noticed that was highly unusual was she dried up quickly when I helped her up to my small boat. Her clothes were unusual textile of white.” My father added to his story.

“Even though that kid was unusual, I still rowed my boat. She instructed me the direction. After half an hour of rowing my boat, I finally saw an Island. That island was small, Dang. But as I looked at it, there were a lot of people standing by the beach. The island was well-lit. Their clothes were all the same, their skin was all the same like the little girl I went with. As we docked, I was asked to come down by an old lady. She said she was the mother of the child I brought. Her daughter told her what happened. That she was pushed by her friends from the boat they were in, and that I was the one who helped her. Her mother came to me and touched my chest where my heart was and said “every hardship you are facing will be let loose by God, the cleanliness of your heart is how clean the blessing that is coming to you. Go home to your wife and children, don’t look back. You will arrive at your destination no matter what.” My mother listened intently to his story.

“I turned my back Dang, and pushed my small boat to the sea. I did what she told me, I did not look back. But I felt it, they disappeared as soon as I stepped on the seawater, the lights also disappeared, but I still did not look back. The waves became calm, and the rain stopped. I didn’t notice that I already arrived home” My father said as he finished his story about what happened to him at the sea.

I no longer heard what they were talking about as I fell asleep. My heart was already happy.

When morning came, I was awakened by a commotion below our stilt house. When I listened, my father was calling my mother.

“Dang! Dang! Come quickly, look at what is here in my small boat!” My father shouted to my mother. I saw my mother come down hurriedly to the stairs, while my father was standing, the seawater going up to his knees while he was looking at his small boat. I peeped from the spaces of our bamboo floor to see them.

“Allahu Akbar! Dang, those are pearls!” My mother answered. When I looked at my father’s small boat, it was indeed pearls, a lot of them! My father’s small boat was filled with pearls of different colors and sizes. Unbeknownst to me, it was the morning that would change the course of my family’s life. Blessing from Allah through a clean heart.

Those pearls changed how our lives went by. I was able to go to school in Jolo, along with my brothers. We were also able to buy a house- a cemented and well-furnished one in Jolo. My mother was able to help her colleagues whose job was to make and twist ropes. They already have a factory to produce them fast. Our home in Maimbung was rebuilt stronger. We no longer suffer from used-up groceries in the kitchen. My brothers and I are now able to eat three times a day. And the most important among all, my father no longer needs to sail the perilous and windy sea just to catch fish. My father was able to start a business not only at sea, but also on land, a halal business. My father was able to obtain big boats which he let our neighbors borrow so they could have a safe fishing trip. My father’s small boat was added with boats of bigger size, but my father still uses his small boat until now.

            Now! That was the story I want to share with you while I eat patulakan here in this wooden port near our house in Maimbung. How about you? What is your story?