Sheilfa B. Alojamiento

She said marriage is a trap. Comfortable at first, but after a while, you’d get numb dumb from the repetitiousness of it. She just turned 50. I recall how, when we were both in our twenties, we already had a thousand reviews that went like that.

And him. I do remember him. A younger him, maybe, but older already, having walked through hell as a construction worker in KSA, jobless at some point and had to convert to Islam, then found succor in the hands of tougher women whom he had to repay with love and sex and respect despite himself. That was the working-class credentials that made her choose him over the middle-class doctor-suitors she knew.

She said what he wanted from her was a son. He said to her he was not getting any younger, and so was she. But at the time they were seeing each other, she was not yet finished with her internship, so she made sure she would not get pregnant. I had by then shipped my own ersatz daughter to my sister’s in-laws in La Union. It kind of irked me when she said, You will feel something after all.

Feel what?

If you bled when you should be gestating?

Gestating oh my God. But I kept quiet. I was thinking, she will marry. She will have a son and I just lost a daughter, and she’s going with him. She will go to Saudi Arabia and they will make a lot of money and I will have no one.

Then he came over. That was the first time I saw him. Also, the first time I saw them together. He was handsome and kind in an unburdened and uncommitted way and he never tried talking to me. Just smiled politely and uncondescendingly. It puzzled me somewhat. Like, did he know it was my friend he was taking from me? For he didn’t seem aware of it. Like he wasn’t the taker. But there he was, as if he was just there to take her out to the park or to a movie downtown, nothing to it that would hurt nobody, only that it was something good to do since he never thought of it before and never had the opportunity.

A couple of years later, she did give him a son. The boy was her replica. I was kind of distraught. I have this idea that when men ask for a son, it’s because they want something to look like them that would reflect them. Something they can mark out as theirs that would proclaim their progeny long after they are dead. A genetic conceit, could be, and with him you can understand that: he is good-looking and a kind man besides. She wasn’t bad-looking either, just a little fat and shapeless, as though whoever made her made sure that no bones jutted out. And that’s what she gave him: more of her.

We used to joke a lot about couples we knew. Friends we saw who married beneath them. What happened to her? She got lonely? Couldn’t find another? But now there was no joke. For he wasn’t so bad though neither a doctor nor a poet nor an intellectual. Now I couldn’t say to her, What went wrong? You panicked?

I gathered that the three of them, and especially father and son, get along fine. Like they’re friends, buddies, now that they’re all grown-up. So, I said to her, It happens everywhere, you should not take it against yourself or against anyone.

Then they showed up in my house. God, they looked awful. A neighbor said a red car was around looking for me. I was in Green Meadows then, in this house, a spacious airy house with light furniture and a low makeshift shelf full of books. She must have noticed that when she got inside: no lumpy couches that bumped against one’s knees, no JVC, no coffeemaker no dining set no fancy paintings decking the walls.

They sat there on the big rattan chair. I could see that the two of them were having a little quarrel, like the husband had been commandeered against his wishes to drive, from downtown Davao to outskirt Mintal just to look for this crazy friend from way back in his wife’s youth. He didn’t even try to hide his resentment at getting seated there in that poor rattan chair which by his standards must be nothing but ragtag poor, including the uncurtained jalousies and the sagging bamboo gate that greeted them outside.

I suppose I wasn’t so welcoming either. I don’t even remember hugging her, which was our way, always hugging, and I didn’t even offer them a drink, not even biscuits, as there was none, just water and more water inside the nice tall Condura fridge which I bought for eight a year and a half back but would be carted off by a neighbor friend for two by and by in several months’ installments. What I can remember saying was how the two of them were growing thick in the middle and he didn’t even respond to that, not with a smirk or a glance up at me, and she didn’t return the compliment by saying how consumptive sick I looked, just laughed a little and said, Yes, it’s the iced tea. I had to smile a bit at the reminder, for it was an addiction she had passed on to me for a little while.

Then she went over to the refrigerator. She stood there and opened it like it belonged to her, the way she used to when we shared a house and a kitchen, standing back and looking down without even bending a little, because there was nothing inside except bottles and bottles of cold water. And then she turned to me saying could I go with them or could I see her, was it the day after, say at Victoria Plaza or was it to visit her in her Mom’s house in Marawi, and I don’t remember if the husband excused himself and went to the waiting car outside as we talked, but she managed to quip in one thing or another, that he wanted to go to his friends, college pals he roomed with when he was a college boy at UM, friends from his bachelor days to drink and party with or have a reunion, and she kind of dragged him in another direction that spoiled all his joys.

I felt sorry. Suddenly, now that she was taking leave, I wanted her to stay. But I just nodded. Maybe because I could see that the two of them were really harried and were on their way elsewhere and her Mommy and some of both families were downtown waiting with the little son, and so we said goodbye. But I was thinking, why didn’t she take the jeep why didn’t she drive she could have brought with her the son and the yaya. Then I remembered they didn’t allow women to drive cars in KSA and I thought, but they’re in the Philippines now why enforce a physical closeness with another fellow when the two of you thought differently why force oneself into a physical dependence on one who perhaps did not have a strong need to be needed to fix the door to drive the car and look after folks and such.

Oh. I was just jealous. Petro-dollars, a six-digit salary on top of a second-hand dream red car from a carnapper in Marawi, perhaps a drug dealer, and that knot of family and friends surrounding her admiring her. I recalled though that just sometime back she was messaging me and cussing her husband, calling him imbecile, cussing the mutawas, the Islamic police in KSA, where you could not go out alone, where there was nothing that you could do outside your house that would not mark you as a prostitute. Notes from hell, I called them, to a deeper hell where at the time of her visit I didn’t want to show her the cracks of, but I could bet she saw it in the empty cold crypt of an unransacked refrigerator.

After she moved to another country, or to two other countries, she wasn’t so angry anymore. No more Islamic police to bedevil her, and so she kind of regained composure. And then she started self-analyzing again, post-morteming her husband, our friends, anyone she found fault with. But I wasn’t sure anymore. It might have been my own unvented anger I was projecting on her all along. For we had parted ways for a long time, and not just she and I; there were ugly fights here and there, between family and between erstwhile comrades and friends. You could say we’d stopped following each other now to know where the other was, geographically, politically.

I have had so many other thoughts since I last thought of her. Found other friends. Loves big and small. Some with hells so much vaster than mine, and some dying there, unhelped, as mostly, mostly, I wasn’t there, too.

Najhanne Buat Asum 

“Omar!”

“Omar!”

The muffled shouts of my name pulled me from my earphones. I glanced out the window to see my older sister, Kaka Jam, calling for me.

“Go fishing with Abi,” she yelled, pointing towards the lake where Abi was busy preparing the bangca under the scorching sun.

“But I’m doing something!” I yelled back, about to plug in my earphones, when I saw her throw down the basket she was holding.

“What’s wrong with you? You never go out to the lake anymore!”

I ignored her. What does she mean, what’s wrong with me? I guess I’ve just grown. I’m no longer interested in going to the lake to catch fish with Abi like I used to when I was a kid. Now, I’m chasing something bigger, something better than the fish in the lake. I want to become a well-known actor in Manila.

An hour later, I paused the video when a notification popped up at the top of my screen. I lifted myself from the bed and hurriedly checked it. Hunched forward, shoulders tight, I held my breath. I hoped.

And just like that, I knew I was one step closer to my dream. My online audition for Starbust Entertainment had been accepted, and I was going to be one of the supporting actors for a new movie. I nodded with certainty, whispering to myself, “Manila, here comes Eli.” I smiled proudly at the thought of finally using the stage name I had created years ago.

With courage, I went out of my room. I prepared with all my might, rehearsing in my head how I would tell Kaka and Abi the news.

“As-salamu alaykum!” I jumped out of my seat when I heard Kaka Jam.

“Wa alaikumu salam! Kaka!” I greeted her excitedly as I guided her to her seat.

She looked at me with eyebrows drawn together, confusion and annoyance clear on her face. “What has gotten into you lately? What is this all about?”

When she was finally seated, I told her about the news.

“Manila!? You are leaving Balindong?” she exclaimed. I had seen it coming, though.

“Kaka, come on,” I pleaded. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! You know how much I dreamed of this, you know how much I wanted this.”

“No. Absolutely not, Omar!” she said with finality.

“But Kaka, you know this is not just about leaving,” I persisted. “It’s chasing my dream! It’s a whole different thing!”

“Leaving is the bottom line here! You are leaving Balindong for Manila!”

I fell silent. I know all this fuss wasn’t because she refused to support me. It was because she was afraid. Afraid that once I left, I would turn my back on them completely and let Manila swallow me whole. My constant plans to move, the dreams I spoke of again and again, and the countless times she caught me searching for places to stay in the city… all of it must have fueled her fear.

Just then, the sound of the front door opening sliced through the heavy silence. It was Abi.

“What’s all the commotion?” he asked, confusion in his voice as he dropped the basket he was holding.

Kaka wasted no time explaining the situation, even exaggerating my desire to abandon everything. I watched Abi nervously, waiting for his verdict. He stood still, eyes fixed on me, studying my face for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, contemplative.

Finally, he spoke.

“Let him go, Jam.”

My jaw dropped. Kaka’s face contorted with disappointment, but she remained silent when she noticed Abi’s seriousness.

“Thank you, Abi!” I exclaimed.

Kaka ignored me the rest of the day. Abi, on the other hand, even helped me with packing. That night, I could barely sleep out of excitement.

The next morning, I practically bounced out of bed. I nearly inhaled my meal, unable to wait to arrive in Manila, where my dreams awaited. An hour later, Abi told me the van had arrived.

When I got to the van after sharing a few words and a hug with Abi, I couldn’t help but look forward to what awaited me. I still couldn’t believe all of this was happening.

I looked out the window as the beautiful Lake Lanao receded into the distance. That’s when I felt a pang of sadness tug at my heart, still hurting at the thought of leaving home, Abi, and Kaka Jam. However, the image of myself acting alongside other actors quickly distracted me and pushed those emotions aside. I shook my head. For now, I should focus on my acting career, on becoming the actor I dreamed of.

Finally landing in Manila, I couldn’t hide my happiness. Now that I had arrived, I had to work my way toward becoming a successful actor.

And I did. Ten months in, the movie I acted in became a major hit, receiving high ratings. I also gained recognition—my Instagram account soared to 300k followers, and offers came from every direction. The movie was certainly the talk of the town.

I should be happy by now, though. I am where I have wanted to be.

But somehow, I never felt accomplished. Like something was constantly missing.

“Eli!”

“Eli!”

I only returned to reality when my manager, James, called me. I had been spacing out again. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt lost, adrift in a place I should have known by now, after ten months.

“Some supporters recognized you earlier. They were calling for you, but you didn’t respond. Are you okay? You’ve been like this lately.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

I knew I had wanted Eli as my stage name, but somehow, lately, the name felt foreign. Hearing it spoken felt like hearing someone else’s name.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom, splashing water on my face in an attempt to wash away the confusion. As I dried my hands, a voice stopped me.

“Omar?”

That name. Just moments ago, I had felt lost, but now, hearing it, I suddenly felt found.

I turned around to see who it was. It was Hassan, a good friend from childhood and also my first cousin.

“Has—” I began, but my manager’s voice called from outside the bathroom.

“Eli! We’re leaving, just waiting for you!”

Disappointment flashed across Hassan’s face.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought you were someone I knew,” he said, starting to walk away.

I stopped him. “It’s me, Hassan! Omar!”

He hesitated, still unsure.

“Saken aya, si Omar.” I added, full of hope that he would finally recognize me.

He smiled, finally recognizing me, and stepped forward for a hug. I felt an unexplainable joy, being seen for who I really was, being called Omar again, speaking my language.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Art exhibition,” he replied. “I painted Lake Lanao. It got accepted for an exhibition.” That explained the malong he was wearing.

“Do you have the time? Let’s go out!” I invited him eagerly.

And so, I excused myself from the team and went out with Hassan. We headed to a nearby coffee shop. At first, we just caught up. He shared about his exhibition, and I told him about my acting career, which he was only learning about now. For someone not into watching series, I understood his surprise.

Later, what started as a normal catching-up session turned into something deeper. I found myself telling him everything I had been feeling lately, about the emptiness, the feeling of being lost, even after reaching the place I had been dreaming of.

“You asked earlier if it’s wrong to chase the dream of acting. I don’t think it is. There’s nothing wrong with aiming to go further with your dreams—”

“Then, if it is not, why am I feeling like this? Why does it make me want to regret even coming here? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He sighed and gave me a reassuring smile. “You know, Omar, most people who feel lost are those who forget to stay rooted in where they come from.”

My brow furrowed. What is he trying to say?

“When was the last time you called home?”

And there, I understood him. I knew what he meant. I had been too busy in Manila to even  reach out. I couldn’t remember the last time I called, the last time we shared a conversation. By now, I was afraid and in denial. I didn’t want to admit to myself that maybe Kaka Jam had been right from the beginning, that I had made her fear come true, leaving them entirely as I fully embraced my dream.

“Omar, there’s nothing wrong with going far, with exploring the world. Just stay rooted all the time. That way, you won’t get lost. You can reach for the furthest star, but if you forget where you came from, you’d simply be like a bird simply flying around aimlessly.”

My head kept replaying his words, filled with memories of home and the life of Omar.

The conversation I had with Hassan made me decide to go back home for a while. I knew I had to find myself again, and I could only do that in the place that gave me the identity of who I truly was—Omar, a Meranaw.

When I arrived at our place, I saw the lake from the van’s window. I felt the familiar warmth of home. I recalled what Hassan had told me about how the lake gave us the identity of being Meranaw. Seeing it once again made me feel truly back, not only in Balindong, but also in myself.

As we finally arrived at our place, Abi and Kaka awaited me. Reaching them, Kaka greeted me with a playful smack on the forearm.

“So you still remember your way back here, huh?” she smiled. I replied with a teasing grin.

I looked at Ama, who was smiling. I remembered how he had allowed me to go to Manila so easily, how he had set me out to chase my dream, and now here he was, watching me return with a greater love for my culture and home. Maybe he knew how to make me come back.

“We missed you, son. We’re glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad I’m back, too, Abi.”

Adawia J. Jamasali

It was an unusual day in September for Melyn. She sat outside her house, frowning the whole morning. It was so unlike her. Usually, her mornings were filled with gossip about her neighbor, Mrs. Abdulla, whose sons and daughters were already professionals and based in Zamboanga City.

Melyn would proudly tell her other neighbors, Jumma and Nora, that she had seen with her own eyes how sad Mrs. Abdulla looked when she went out to throw the garbage. It was because she was alone in the house. Her huge mansion was useless now, since all her children had their own lives. Her sadness was unfathomable, worsened by the fact that her elderly husband—bedridden—was not with her, but with his second wife, who was far too young for him. Life must have been cruel to Mrs. Abdulla, leaving her stuck in Sulu and all alone.

Jumma and Nora would listen attentively to Melyn and even admire how credible and detailed her information about Mrs. Abdulla was.

Just yesterday, the three of them spent the whole day talking about the mysterious man who visited Mrs. Abdulla. He was new to them. They didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t a relative or a known friend of any of Mrs. Abdulla’s children.

The man, who appeared to be in his early twenties, was tall and slim. He wore a black face mask, a black hat, and black sunglasses. His black shirt was plain, with no prints or logos. He seemed very mysterious.

He rang the bell at Mrs. Abdulla’s house around ten in the morning, while Melyn and her companions were still arguing about the garbage truck, which was running late in their village. After a few minutes, Mrs. Abdulla, now in her late sixties, slowly opened the gate. She silently nodded to the man and invited him inside. Melyn and her two friends watched in silence. Mrs. Abdulla locked the gate, and the two disappeared into the mansion.

The three women were now very curious about what they had just seen. Instead of going back to their respective homes to do chores, they stayed, waiting for the man to come out so they could ask him who he was. Jumma said she had asked her husband to do the laundry, while Nora, luckily, had no one at home, so they had the entire day to keep watch. Melyn, on the other hand, told her nephews to buy their own food since she couldn’t cook for them because of the unfolding drama.

They brought out their plastic chairs and sat outside Melyn’s house. While waiting for more action from Mrs. Abdulla’s residence, they gossiped, laughed, and poked fun at their topics.

But today, Melyn was frowning. She couldn’t compose herself. She was wondering why the man hadn’t come out of the mansion since yesterday. He must’ve spent the night there. But who was he? How was he connected to Mrs. Abdulla?

She was also puzzled that Mrs. Abdulla hadn’t gone out that morning to throw out the garbage, as she usually did. What could the two of them be doing? Could they be romantically involved? But that didn’t make sense—how could a man in his twenties fall in love with an old woman? Unless… he was after Mrs. Abdulla’s pension.

Melyn stood up and walked toward Mrs. Abdulla’s gate. She craned her neck, trying to catch sight of either the woman or the mysterious man, but to no avail. She looked at her wristwatch. No one was coming out. And soon, her friends would arrive. She had no new information to offer them this time.

She returned to her plastic chair. Eventually, she saw Jumma and Nora approaching with their chairs and paper bags of snacks. They greeted one another and positioned themselves beside Melyn.

Jumma, in her late forties, a small woman with a flat tummy, brought out the snack she had prepared: pastil, a Tausug delicacy with bihon-filled dough fried to a crisp.

“Any news today, Melyn?” she asked while chewing her first bite.

“No,” Melyn admitted sadly.

Melyn was a few years older than Jumma. She was tall and heavyset, often mistaken to be pregnant because of her protruding belly. But she was a spinster. She was manly and nagging, and no man had ever seriously pursued her, much less married her. She had lived alone for years, though her siblings had entrusted some of their children to her care.

“That’s sad, Melyn. I thought you’d feed us with some juicy news today,” Nora chimed in.

Nora was the oldest of the three. Tall and fair-skinned, she must have been beautiful in her youth—she still carried traces of it. She was married to a police officer who was often away on duty. Their three daughters were studying in Cebu City. When her husband was at work, she spent most of her time with Melyn, gossiping.

Melyn remained silent while the two women enjoyed their snacks.

“Oh, this is so delicious,” Nora exclaimed. “Where did you buy this?”

“At Sitti’s,” Jumma replied.

“I see. That explains it.”

“Yeah, you know how good she is at baking and cooking. The other day, I bought daral and putli mandi, and the kids devoured everything right away. They loved it,” Jumma said as she chewed another bite of pastil.

“Melyn, try some—it’s really good,” Nora offered.

Melyn leaned toward them but didn’t take any food.

“They still haven’t come out,” she finally said.

The women looked at her, puzzled.

“But why? How did they cook breakfast this morning?” Nora asked.

“Yeah, and what clothes did that handsome guy wear to bed?” Jumma added with a smirk.

“Do you think they slept?” Nora asked again.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Jumma replied.

“Oh come on, Jumma! When it’s just two people alone in a house, what else would they do? Cook?” Nora laughed.

“But I didn’t hear any cooking last night. Not even a voice,” Melyn interrupted.

“Oh my God! Do you think they’re dead by now?” Nora shrieked.

“Shut up!” Melyn and Jumma snapped at the same time.

“We have to figure out what happened,” Melyn said softly.

The two women leaned in to listen. Then, they all continued talking, eating, and laughing in their chairs well past noon. The sun was high and the heat oppressive. Still no sign of life from Mrs. Abdulla’s house.

By late afternoon, Nora and Jumma were stretching and yawning. Mrs. Abdulla and the stranger were still nowhere in sight.

“I have to go home and cook dinner. See you tomorrow, Melyn,” Nora finally said.

“Me too. Let’s keep watch again tomorrow,” Jumma added.

Melyn was left alone in her chair, her eyes fixed on her neighbor’s house. As darkness fell, she stood and walked to Mrs. Abdulla’s gate. She rang the doorbell. No response. She rang it again. Still nothing.

Frustrated, Melyn’s face flushed red. She began to push the doorbell more aggressively, over and over. The bell rang loudly inside the house. Its echo traveled through the halls of the mansion, then spread to nearby houses, then farther, until the whole neighborhood heard it.

Melyn’s strength began to fade as she gasped for air, still pushing the button endlessly.

Some neighbors came out of their homes, curious about the strange sound. Dogs barked. Cats spun in circles, chasing their tails. Even Jumma and Nora peeked outside, looking up at the sky in search of the sound’s source. When they couldn’t find it, they returned to their sofas, turned on the TV, and munched on popcorn.

At exactly 6 o’clock, the Azan echoed from the village Masjid. Amid the call to prayer, the doorbell kept ringing.

Some families began dinner. Others rose to perform Maghrib prayer.

Only one person remained at the gate, still pressing the doorbell: Melyn.

Mohammad Ammar G. Mangondato

“…Di katawan o madakel a giya man e titho a tiyoba sa Gahil!”.

Aden a isa ka pamilya a langon pamomolong a sii  miyagintaw sa inged a Gahil. Siran so pamilya a Mangatha, a aya mababaloy a pekabolosan o manga tao sa Gahil a tatalogedam sa pitibarangan a paniyakit. Giya a pamilya a Mangatha na titho den ko mala so gagaw iran ko kipakareregenan ago mala so panagontaman iran asar bo a kaogopan iran so maginged. Igira aden a kiyabolongan odi na minikimosawir kiran na daden a paganginen iran a perak odi na apiya antonawnon a mabaloy a sambi ko kiyaogop iran ko manusiya. Aya bo a antap iran na mawsar iran so ilmo iran a panabang sii ko makakikinanglanon.

Miyakaisa a masa na miyasugat a mala a paniyakit a inged a Gahil. Tanto a madakel a gomidam sa sakit. Sabap roo na diden khaompas so phamakibolong sa pamilya Mangatha. Sa kadakel o taw na di phakaato siran oto a pat ka taw a pamomolong- so kharomai a si Siddiq ago si Saliha, ago so wata iran a kambal a si Sofyan ago si Soraim. Apiya siran bo I phakagaga mamolong sa gini a misasamblay a sakit na di siran phakaato sa kadakel a kiyaogalinan sa giya a sakit.

Ko soled a sawlan na mas mindakel so miyasakit. Rumiyaot sa labi magatos ka taw so da magaga kabulungan a kiyasabapan sa kiyapatay iran. Madakel a miyakandarasag sangkoto a masa. Si Kadibah na isa ko manga taw a romiriit sii ko manga Mangatha. Thito niyan a ipkhaguwad a mga Magatha ka lalayon siran di mapodipodi ko mga galebek iran sa Gahil. Aya ngena iyan mambo na kabantogan sa datar o kababantogi ko pamilya a Mangatha sa miyathay a masa. Sa giya a miyaolaola na miyandingandingan iyan a mapiya aya a magosaren a tothol a pangibarat ka an ikagowad o maginged so manga Mangatha.

Tominibaw si Kadibah ko isa ko manga piyatayan sa wata a so kharumai a si Tukod ago si Karbala. “Aydow! Bapa, ante, kataya a miyakatalingoma ako ka tanto den a miyarata a ginawa ko inako maneg aken a mindod sa limo o kadnan so da rowaron a wata iyo,” kabasa e Kadibah. Di phakasembag so kharumai sa tanto a diran dikapakamboko sa rakes a phangarororo so manga lo i Karbala, ina i Mujahid. “Naoh ante, pakasorgaan o Allah si Mujahid. Isana den aya malipedes a minitiyoba rektano. Opama ka da nedaraynonen o manga Mangatha si Mujahid na imanto na mapipiya a ginawa niyo. Mataan ka matitho ka benar den so negneg sa Gahil a phisamili iran bo so piyanisakitan iran piyapiya ka so bo so manga pembayad kiran sa masolen.” Malo miniramig a kiyapamiyagi e Kadibah sii ko karomai taman sa tomiyaros peman ko ped a manga pamilya a makamboboko.

Madakel a piyatayan a miyakaneg sangkoto a tothol. Aden pen a miyakambalebaleson a di thibabaan o manga Mangatha a di iran kambolongi piyapiya ko ped a pamakitabang kiran. Na so manga piyatayan a pamilya na mimomosawira siran sa baden pakaawaa so manga Mangatha sa Gahil. Aden a somiyopak sangkoto a pamikiran ogaid na so kalilid na makaaayonon. Da pangaathay na miyakawma angkoto a katharo sii ko Pamilya a Mangatha. “Hay amakulay! bangka da maneg so minilangkap a tothol? A pithibaba tano kon a da tano kasiyapa ko manga pamilya iran,” pitharo e Sofyan. Inisompaton pen i Soraim, “Ama, madakel kon den man a miyakapiker sa solasogen iran a walay tano misabap sa genan a kabasa e Sofyan. Phakaawaan tano iran sa Gahil.” Aya bo a miyatharo e ama iran na, “Giya so masa a saden sa pimbasa iran sii reketano na di patot oba tano tomareg ka makikinanglan tano pen o inged tano.”

Da siran den pamimikiran sa mathay ka kinanglan so kaphamolongi iran ko ped a masasakit. Tanto a maregen ko manga Mangatha a diran di kapamolong sa daden a oba niyan bayad, go di pthoon so bager iran. Aya pen a mala a inikharata a ginawa iran na so mebarambarang a manga sasakit a tothol ago katharo a pekioma kiran. Misokayaw den mambo so maginged sabap ko di benar a antangan i Kadibah. Sa giyangkoto a tanto a kararata a ginawa o madakel na miyangonoton mambo so rarangit iran. Miyawma so gawii a kasolasog iran sii ko walay o manga Mangatha. Aya ngena o kadakelan na tarotop den a mapakaawa iran siran a kapapantagan a di manisakit ko kitatalogdam. Mala a ipekhararangit iran na so diden kaphakababa o bilangan o pekhada kiran sabap ko bager o paniyakit a di ron pakatiyokop a tarotop so panagontaman o manga Mangatha. Soden so maginged i miyakatalingoma sa liyo a walay o manga Mangatha. Sosokhayaw so manga tao sangkoto a masa. “Pamangawa kano sa Gahil! Sekano e kiyasabapan sa kiyapatay o manga pamilya ami.” masarangit a inilalis i Tukod. Ped sa di khakaleka sa Gahil si Tukod sabap ko karangit ago kabager iyan a mama.

Salakaw den a kaphakailay o madakel sii ko manga Mangatha. Salakaw so dimelalis, so dimamagita, ago so dinggogoraok sa mala. Apiya den i dikapanagontaman o manga Mangatha na miyategel den a kapagawa iran. “Di niyo den pamolongi a genan a pangasasakit a pagari ami ka di ami thomoon oba siran mamatay sa tangan niyo. Ilaya niyo man a miyasowa ami aya,” kabasa i Kadibah a makatatalingoma mambo. Magaan sa magaan na miyakapaninimo so pamilya ka magawaan iran angkoto a inged. “Ona kano den, ka aya mataan benar na diko den kharaw oba ko awai a manga bangsa tano aya. Opama ka awaan tano siran langon na di ko den katawan i khasowa iran. Antaa den i phamolong kiran?” pitharo e Siddiq ki Saliha ago so manga wata iran.

Kiyapasadan iran na aya bo a pethalimbagak na si Siddiq ka o titho sekaniyan a pemarataan o manga tao sa Gahil na aden pen a lamba a makaphamolong kiran. Tanto a masakit ki Saliha ago so dowa a wata iran a kapagawai iran ki ama iran. Tarotop mambo a siyoledan o manga tao so torogan iran na rakes a diyakep iran si Siddiq. “Ino kapen da awa sa giyangkai a inged? Ba aya thomoon ka na kaomanan so phamatay rekami?” kabasa e Kadibah. Piyakaliyo iran si Siddiq na iiketan sa tali a lawas iyan. Sabap ko rarangit iran na pimbentola iran si Siddiq a manga titiwaro a giyoray na so sabaad na pilebada iran a manga ator na taman sa aya niyan den mambo inikawapat. Malo miyalokha so manga taw na kinowa iran so ped ko manga madaseg iran sangkoto a torogan na piyamakaphato iran si-i ko manga walay iran.

Sii ko miyakapera a olan na da iran mapaginengka na baden miyataketakep so miyasakit ago so pagendod kiran sa kapatay. Apiya antonaa den e sowaan iran na di den khaaren so kadakel iyan kenaba datar inako sisii sa Gahil so manga Mangatha. Tanto a miyakasendit so manga taw. Miyawma so masa a tanto den ko miyakasopiit so dikapagintaw sa Gahil. Gopen iran mapamiker a kenaba miyakaompiya a kiyabogawa iran ko manga Mangatha ago kiyabonowa iran ki Siddiq, Ago aya mala na so kiyapangonoti iran ko katharo a da oba niyan katantowan a miniyag ko rarangit o pagetaw. Kiyatokawan o madakel a so langon a pitharo i Kadibah na daden a benar ron. Pimbabanog sekaniyan o pagetaw ogaid na daden a thoonan iranon sa soled a Gahil. Tanto den ko mala so kiyapakasendit iran.

Sa obay a Gahil, na aden a inged roo a pembetowan sa Elim. Sa Elim miyagapas so karoma ago manga wata e Siddiq. Tanto den mambo a kiyapakakharata a ginawa iran sii ko masa a miyaneg iran a pinikibono si Siddiq. Siran bo i makakekenal ko titho a antangan i Siddiq sa  diniyan kapamolongi ko manga pangasasakit apiya daden a oba niyan bayad. Na apiya den i kararata a ginawa iran na da iran den maraw so manga pagetaw sa Gahil oba tarotop iran den a thalikodan. Miyakarampay kiran a katharo so miyawlaola a Gahil ago si di kiran di kambabanoga o manga pagetaw roo ka siran bo i mala a phakaogop kiran sangkoto a masa a kasakit. Miyangni so lamba a manga Mangatha sa tabang sii sa Elim na miyakaonot siran sa madakel a pamomolong nago madakel a awid iran a pagigimo a kinanglan ko kapamolong iran. Magaan sa magaan na milayalayag so miyangalalamba a Mangatha ago so miyangaiimbetar iran a manga pamamolong poon sa Elim taman sa Gahil. Katawan o pamilya a diran khagaga a siran bo ago da ba iran manga pagigimo a mapiya.

So rata a ginawa o pamilya na misoramig sii ko kapedi kenaba sii ko rarangit. Sii ko kiyapakatalingoma iran na tanto iran a minikapedi so masasaman o manga tao ago so kadakel a miyada kiran. Da phakaraw kiran makimbitiyara ki Saliha sabap ko mamala ago mala a kasendit ko kiyapangarasii iran ki Siddiq. Magaan sa magaan na inisogo i Saliha a kapamolongi ko madakel a manga tao a pangasasakit. Madilapet so kiyapakapiya o kadakelan ko manga tao sabap ko panabang poon sa Elim ago so gagaw a mapapadalem ko manga Mangatha. Tanto a mala a minipanalamat o manga taw sa Gahil ki Saliha ago so langon den a miyanabang kiran. Mitharo si Saliha sii ko pantag o madakel a tao.

Aya moripori ko katharo iyan na, “Tanto den a miyarata a ginawa aken ko kiyaoriyan o ama o manga wata aken. Ped rekano bo so miyangarasi rekaniyan ogaid na di patot oba ami talikodi sa taraotop ka atastanggongan ami a giya inged. Ka katawan ami so magegedam iyo sangkoto a masa. Kenaba sekami e mala a pakawgop go pakabinasa rekano. Matag kami baden dimamolong ka giyoto i kapasang a minibegay rekami o Kadnan. Mapakay a pekabolongan ami so pimbarang a paniyakit sa lawas. Ogaid na kenaba so manga antangan a ribat a aya niyaton na indadag ko pagtaw. Di katawan o madakel a giya man e titho a tiyoba sa Gahil!”.

Ang Sakuna sa Gahil
Salin ng “So Tiyoba sa Gahil” sa Wikang Filipino

            “…Hindi nila alam na ito ang tunay na sakuna ng Gahil!”

May isang kilalang angkan ng mga manggagamot sa Gahil. Sila ang pamilya Mangatha. Sila ang pinupuntahan ng mga taga doon kapag mayroon silang nararamdamang kahit anumang sakit. Malapit ang loob ng pamilya Mangatha sa mga taga Gahil lalo na sa mga taong pumupunta sa kanila upang magpagamot. Hindi sila tumatanggap ng pera o anumang anyo ng bayad para sa pagpapagamot sa kanila. Ginagawa nila ito nang bukal sa loob. Ang pagtulong sa mga nangangailangan ay hindi nila pinanggigiit. Ang kaalaman sa panggagamot ang paraang alam nilang maitutulong sa mga taga-Gahil.

May isang nakalulumong pangyayari ang minsang dinanas ng mga taga-Gahil. Halos lahat ng mga residente ay nagkasakit na naging dahilan ng walang katapusang bisita sa tahanan ng mga Mangatha. Hindi makayanan ng mga Mangatha na gamutin lahat ng mga pasyente nila. Apat lamang silang manggagamot- ang mag-asawang Siddiq at Saliha, kasama ng kambal nilang anak na sina Sofyan at Soraim. Kahit na sila lamang ang may kakayahang gamutin ang sakit na ito ay hindi nila makayanang gamutin ang dami ng nahawaan ng sakit.

Mas dumami ang nagkasakit sa loob ng isang buwan. Umabot sa labing isang daan ang mga namatay dahil dito. May isang residente na matagal ng may hindi pagkagusto sa mga Mangatha. Dahil sa mahalaga ang pamilyang ito sa Gahil, ay malaki ang pagpupuri nila sa mga Mangatha. Kaya labis ang selos ni Kadibah na nagdulot ng pagkamuhi sa pamilya ng mga manggagamot. Gusto niyang kilalanin din siya at pahalagahan ng mga tao gaya ng pagpapahalaga nila sa mga Mangatha. Naisip niyang isang malaking pagkakataon ang mga nangyayari sa Gahil ngayon upang sirain ang prinsipyo ng mga manggagamot at kamuhian ito ng mga tao.

Nag-tibaw (pagbisita sa namatayan sa mga Meranaw) si Kadibah sa isa sa mga namatayan ng anak. “Aydow! Bapa, ante, nakakapanlumo ang sinapit ng nag-iisa ninyong anak. Kaya nang marinig ko ang pangyayaring ito ay agad akong pumunta sa inyo,” ani niya sa mag-asawang Tukod at Karbalah. Hindi na nila itong nagawang sagutin dahil sa sobrang paghihhinagpis sa nangyari sa kanilang anak. “Nawa’y tanggapin siya ng Allah sa kaniyang paraiso,”dagdag pa ni Kadibah na lalong itinangis ng ina ni Mujahid. “Isang malaking sumpa itong nangyari sa bayan natin! Kung hindi lang sana pinabayaan ng mga Mangatha si Mujahid ay hindi niya sana ito sinapit. Masaya sana kayo kung hindi lang nila inunang gamutin ang mga nagbigay ng mas malaking halaga. Pinili lamang nila kung sino ang mga gagamutin nila,” mga pagbibintang nito sa mga Mangatha. Ang mga panggagatong na ito ay umabot sa lahat ng mga binisita nitong mga pamilya na namatayan.

Maraming mga namatayan ang nakatanggap sa mga balitang ito. May mga nagsabi din na sinasadya ng mga Mangatha na hindi gamutin ang ilang pumupunta sa kanila. Kaya ang ilan sa mga namatayan ay nagtipon-tipon at nagkasundo na paalisin sa bayan nila ang mga manggagamot. Bagaman may mga tumututol sa usapang ito ay mas madami sa mga ito ang sang-ayon sa pagpapalayas sa mga Mangatha. Dumating sa mga Mangatha ang balitang ito. “Hay amakulay! Hindi mo ba alam ang mga naibalita tungkol sa atin? Na sinasadya daw nating hindi gamutin ang mga pasyente natin kaya namatayan sila,” sabi ni Sofyan. “Ama, may nagsabi din sa akin na isa sa mga araw a ito ay susulungin nila ang bahay natin dahil sa mga sinabing iyan ni Sofyan. Palalayasin nila tayo sa Gahil.” “Hindi ito ang panahon na patulan natin ang mga sinasabi nila. Mas kailangan tayo ng bayan natin,” tipid na sagot ng kanilang ama.

Hindi na nila masyadong nilaanan ng oras ang usaping iyon dahil kasalukuyan silang nanggagamot. Hindi man sila tumatanggap ng kabayaran ay mahirap pa din ang ginagawa nilang ito. Hindi rin sapat ang mga lakas nila sa kinahaharap nilang bilang ng mga pasyente. Sa kabila ng mga serbisyong ito, ay mas namayani para sa mga tao ang mga maling husga na ibinabato sa kanila ni Kadibah. Ikinalulungkot man nila ito ay wala silang magagawa. Dala ng pighati na naging poot ay mas marami ang mga taong naniwala sa mga husga sa mga Mangatha. Dumating ang araw ng pagpapaalis sa kanila sa Gahil. Maraming mga tao ang nagtipon sa labas ng bahay nila, galit na galit. “Umalis kayo sa Gahil! Kayo ang dahilan kung bakit namatayan kami ng mga mahal sa buhay!” pasigaw na sabi ng galit na si Tukod. Isa si Tukod sa mga kinatatakutan sa bayan iyon.

Naging iba na ang tingin ng mga tao sa pamilya Mangatha. Kung dati ang tinitingala sila ng mga tao, ngayon ay kabaliktaran nito. Nagsisisigaw, nagbabanta at ang ilan ay umiiyak nang malakas sa labas ng bahay nila. Hindi man bukal sa kalooban ay napilitan silang magdesisyong umalis na din sa bayan nila. “Huwag niyo ng ituloy ang panggagamot sa mga kapatid namin na nasa inyo dahil ayaw din namin silang mamatay gaya ng ginawa ninyo sa iba!” sigaw ni Kadebah na pinamumunuan ang mga tao. Papalabas na sana ang mga mag-iina ay biglang nagwika ang kanilang ama,”Mauna na kayo, dahil ang totoo ay hindi ko kayang iwan ang mga kababayan natin. Kung sakali mang umalis tayo ay sino na ang maaaring gumamot sa kanila?”, nilingon nito ang kaniyang asawa at ang kaniyang mga anak.

Napagkasunduan nilang pamilya na ang magpapaiwan ay ang kanilang ama na si Sidiqq. Dahil kung may gagawin mang masama ang mga ito sa kanila ay mayroon pa ding matitirang manggagamot sa pamilya nila. Lubhang masakit kay Saliha at sa kaniyang mga anak ang naging desisyong ito ni Sidiqq. Nang makaalis ang mag-iina ay eksaktong paglusob ng mga tao sa bahay nila at tinangay nila si Sidiqq. “Bakit hindi ka pa umalis sa bayang ito? Nais mo bang madagdagan ang mamatay sa amin?” sigaw ni Kadibah rito. Inilabas nila si Sidiqq na nakatali ang katawan. Sinalubong siya ng mga galit na tao saka pinaghahampas habang ang ilan ay pinagbabato ito na naging dahilan ng kaniyang pagkamatay. Pagkatapos ay pinasok nila ang bahay nina Sidiqq at kinuha ang mga mahal sa buhay upang iuwi sa kani-kanilang mga bahay.

Sa ilang buwang lumipas ay napansin nilang mas dumami pa nang dumami ang mga nagkasakit at mga nangamatay. Kahit anong gawin nila ay hindi nila matitigil ang pagdami ng mga nahahawaan hindi kagaya noong panahong nasa kanilang bayan ang mga Mangatha. Sobrang pagsisisi ang nangingibabaw sa mga tao. Mas lalo nilang napagtanto na walang magandang naidulot ang pagpapalayas nila sa mga Mangatha at pagpapapatay kay Sidiqq. Lalo na ng pagpapaniwala nila sa mga kwento walang katotohanan na nagpaalab ng galit at pagkamuhi ng mga tao. Nalaman din ng mga tao ang lahat ng pagsisinungaling ni Kadibah. Pinaghahanap nila ito subalit hindi na mahagilap kahit saang bahagi ng Gahil. Tunay na pagsisisi ang nararamdaman ng mga taga Gahil.

Sa tabi ng Gahil ay mayroong isang bayang tinatawag na Elim. Sa Elim nagtungo ang asawa at mga anak ni Sidiqq. Lubha silang nanlumo       sa sinapit ng kanilang ama. Sila lang ang nakakaalam sa tunay na pagkagusto ni Siddiq na tumulong sa mga nagkakasakit. Bagaman namumuhi sila sa mga ginawa ng mga taga Gahil sa kanilang pamilya ay hindi pa rin maalis sa kanilang mag-alala sa kasalukuyang sinasapit ng kanilang bayan. Nakarating sa kanila na pinaghahanap ito ng kaniyang mga kababayan upang humingi ng tulong. Dahil dito ay humingi sila ng tulong sa mga taga Elim at nagpasama din sila ng mga katulad nilang manggagamot pati na din ng mga kakailanganing gamit sa panggagamot. Naglakbay ang pamilya Mangatha at mga kasamang manggagamot mula sa Elim patungo sa bayan ng Gahil.

Ang naramdamang pagkamuhi ay napalitan ng pagkaawa nang madatnan nila ang sitwasyon ng Gahil. Sa dami ng nahawaan at nangamatay ay hindi maipaliwanag ni Saliha ang awa na nararamdaman nito sa mga taong lumapastangan sa asawa niya. Dahil sa hiya ay walang may kakayahang kumausap dito. Agad na ipinag-utos ni Saliha ang panggagamot sa mga tao. Mabilis ang paggaling ng mga tao sa tulong ng pamilya Mangatha at ng mga taga Elim. Hindi matapos-tapos na pagpapasalamat ng mga taga Gahil kay Saliha at sa mga kasama nito. Sa huli, nagwika sa Saliha sa harap ng maraming tao:

“ Sobrang nakagagalit at nakakalungkot ang naging katapusan ng ama ng mga anak ko. Bagaman alam ko, na kasama at narito ang mga lumapastangan sa kaniya ay hindi ko kayo magawang talikuran. Kasama kayo sa responsibilidad namin sa bayang ito. Hindi kami ang siyang tunay na makatutulong o makasisira sa inyo. Mga manggagamot lamang kami na siyang ibinigay na kakayahan ng Allah. Maaring magamot namin ang anumang uri ng sakit ngunit hindi ang mga baluktot na paniniwalang nagdudulot ng lason sa utak ng sangkatauhan. Na hindi alam ng karamihan ay siyang tunay na sakuna ng Gahil!“

Joross Michael D. Bongcarawan

Beep… beep… beep… beeeeeeppppp…

The rhythmic pulse on the monitor disappeared, replaced by an unbroken flat line, signaling the end.

“Time of death, 5:20 AM,” the doctor pronounced.

“Doc, what’s happening?” exclaimed Mother with her voice trembling. “Can you tell us what’s happening, doc?” “Doc?!”

One question after another, but the answers eluded her. My mother can’t seem to make things sense. She couldn’t believe it. Neither could I nor my family. She was fine and looked so strong a few days ago.

Everyone started to weep loudly, filling the room with anguished sobs.

“Ya Allah! Ya Rahman!” my uncle shouted while gently patting my mother’s back in an attempt to comfort her.

We went to Tawi-Tawi just yesterday. She told us about the great things about Tawi-Tawi. Honestly, she was more excited than us first-timers. On the journey there, it was as though she had become younger again. Her voice was so bright and full of life with all her chitchats and loud laughs.

“I can still remember when I was 18,” Grandma had shared. “we went to Simunul Island. Did you know that it is believed to be the birthplace of Islam in our country?” We just nodded because none of us had heard of it before. She added, “And the oldest mosque?”

I raised my hand eagerly as if I were a student being called by a teacher in an oral recitation. “Sheikh Karimul Makhdum Mosque!” I answered enthusiastically but in an ear-piercing way. As a prize, she gave me a tight hug. A hug that is tighter than usual, as if she knew it would be the last time. Her grip lingered a little longer, as if she was trying to hold onto every moment she could have before things finally slipped away.

With nothing but her happy-go-lucky and compassionate personality, no one would have imagined that her time would come way too early. It was quite hard for us to accept her sudden death.

“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji-un,” whispered Grandpa, who was clearly trying to hold back his tears. I had never seen his eyes look so sorrowful and his usually steady voice falter. “May Allah grant her the highest place in Paradise. Ameen,” he added softly, his wish to ease the pain.

Grandma was the sweetest person I’ve ever known. Though we now live in Binangonan, Rizal due to my father’s work, every year, we pay a visit to my father’s hometown, Marantao, to spend some time with family and relatives.

It was the 31st of January, we traveled to Marantao, and as always, Grandma couldn’t contain her excitement. Grandma kept on calling Mother multiple times, asking the same thing.

“Where are you now? Almost there? Khaliq, is he with you?” she asked. “Not yet. I’ll give you a call to let you know. Yes, Khaliq is here,” Mother reassured her.

Grandma talked to me, and as expected, she bombarded me with a lot of questions. She asked if I had found a girlfriend and if I didn’t, I should find one.

“You must be very tall now, ikaritan ko,” she told me as if I were growing an inch every night to grow that big in a span of a year. Well, I didn’t. I smiled and told her how tiring it had been at school, in addition to my extracurricular activities. I had been so busy that I could barely give her a call, even during weekends.

1:35 PM. We are almost there. I could feel it. The bustling city lights and polluted air began to fade away and the streets are slowly becoming quiet. I started seeing the soft, calming green of the trees with their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. And the fresh air? It smells like heaven! I could smell the refreshing scent of nature. I could feel the excitement rising inside me as we drew closer to the warmth and comfort of our home.

Grandma was well-known in our community for her exceptional cooking skills. Her specialties are asked for by many people in different parts of our municipality. One time, she was even featured in local news for her mouthwatering pastil. It was our proudest moment, I can say.

1:50 PM. Calls echoed from one phone to another, everything was ringing and vibrating. Grandma certainly could no longer wait to see us after an entire year. The moment I stepped outside the car, the surroundings went silent when I saw her face. Her wide, beaming smile stretched all the way to her ears.

“Naow, so ikaritan ko! When did you get so tall and handsome? Someone has been making you blush? Ah! I see! You’re inspired! Tell me about it!” Grandma told me rapidly, barely catching her breath. For a second, I thought she was a retired professional rapper in her days.

“What’s this smell?” Mother asked, sniffing the air. “Wait… Ome, piyaparan a badak!?” Father exclaimed, with his eyes wide open with surprise, as if he had smelled something he never had before. “Let’s get inside, kids,” he added, his voice full of excitement, eager to devour every single dish that Grandma cooked for us.

PIYAPARAN A BADAK

Ingredients:

500 grams of young, unripe jackfruit
2 tbsp. of palapa
200 grams of dried fish
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 bell peppers, chopped
1 spring onion, chopped
2 bowls of coconut milk
1 tsp, black pepper
1 tsp, turmeric powder
1 tsp, salt
2 cups of shredded coconut
2 cups of water

Procedures:

1. Put all the ingredients together in a cooking pot, except for the coconut milk for the first layer.
2. For the second layer, repeat the first step to ensure all ingredients are well combined.
3. Pour one bowl of coconut milk on top of the ingredients.
4. Cook for 20-30 minutes over medium heat until the jackfruit becomes soft. Make sure that it doesn’t dry out.
5. After it is boiled, pour the second bowl of coconut milk.
6. Cook for another 10-20 minutes or until the jackfruit is completely cooked.

As we stood on the doorstep, Aunt Asiya, Mother’s sister, welcomed us warmly. “Aydow, it’s been such a long time. Is this Khaliq, you’re oldest?” she asked with a smile. “Yes, but he’s the youngest. You must be referring to Khalid,” Mother replied. “Ehh, subhanallah! Yes, I remember Khalid,” Aunt quickly corrected herself, laughing lightly. “Pardon me, I must be getting old now,” she joked, shaking her head.

“Can’t you wait until we’re seated, Asiya?” Grandma teased her. “I’ve got plenty of questions for the family, too,” she added, making everyone laugh.

“Ibrahim, you can put your baggage in your old room. We cleaned it the whole day, so I expect you’ll be comfortable with it after all these years,” Grandma explained with a proud smile.

“Ome, why are you making it sound like it was my first time here?” replied Father with a laugh. “This is where I used to–” “Eh, karoo dn,” Grandma interrupted him before he could finish, cutting him off playfully.

Mother and I went first in the dining room and…

“Allahu Akbar! Ome, what’s with all of these foods!” Mother complained upon seeing the long table filled with various Meranaw dishes. My eyes dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Palapa? Piaparan a badak? Tiyateg? Dodol? Inaluban a sda? It felt like we were celebrating something big.

“Aren’t these too much, Ome? You didn’t need to prepare a lot. There are only five of us,” Father said in wonder, looking astonished. Grandma remained silent as she knew Mother and Father would never stop asking her about it.

“Untod kano, so that we can eat. You must be very hungry after the long travel.”

I cannot choose which to eat. “Can I have the dodol first?” I thought to myself. “No, it’s too sweet. I might lose my appetite.” I reluctantly put the dodol back, only to find myself returning to it. I can’t. I just can’t resist it. The sticky texture, the sweetness– it was too perfect to be resisted! “Dodol, I will never leave here without bringing some of you!” I said loudly, which brought laughter to the table.

“So, how’s work?” Grandma asked Father, shifting the conversation. “I don’t know how should I put it but something has caused quite a stir in our municipality,” he replied in a somber tone.

Father works as a government employee at the municipal hall. Lately, there have been rumors circulating in several barangays in our place. Reason? It didn’t come as shocking to many of us, though. Even I could sense that something was wrong with the system.

With the election coming up in a few months, tarpaulins were being put up here and there. They were literally plastered everywhere. Some people were excited about it because of the money they would get from different candidates. To us, it was yet another round of choosing leaders who can actually lead the people into betterment but have 0.5% of winning.

We couldn’t deny it. Some people are just blind, deaf, and allergic to good governance grounded in integrity, accountability, and transparency. They prefer short-term happiness without considering the long-term consequences of their thirst for money that can never be extinguished. They exchange small sums of pennies with years-long of bad governance.

And when these candidates manage to get a seat and act foolishly, these fanatics who blindly support them will either speak ill about them OR remain silent as they can blame no one but themselves.

PALAPA

Ingredients:

2 kg sakurab, sliced
4 pcs ginger, sliced
4 tbsp chili pepper
1 tbsp salt
1 ½ cup cooking oil
2 bulbs garlic, chopped

Procedures:

1. Using a mortar and pestle, crush sakurab, ginger, and chili peppers together.
2. When everything is crushed, add cooking oil to a cooking pan over medium heat.
3. Add chopped garlic and cook until fragrant.
4. Add the sakurab mixture.
5. Stir it from time to time to prevent the mixture from sticking to the pan. Keep stirring for 15-20 minutes until it changes color.

“What do you want to be in the future?” Grandma asked out of curiosity as she chopped the sakurab and ginger. “I want to become a politician,” I replied, watching her intently as she worked on the palapa.

Grandma paused for a moment, her knife still in mid-air. “I thought you hated politics?” she added, her eyebrows slightly contracted.

I nodded. She’s right. I do hate politics of all things. It is dirty— full of lies, deception, corruption, you name it. My voice faltered a bit, but I was determined to get my point across.

“I can’t just let it continue to be dirty. I want to make a positive change in our community. I want to make a difference in how things are done.”

“What do you think you can do if ever you become one?” Grandma continued, setting her knife down carefully. She looked at me warmly. “Do you think you can change it?” she asked thoughtfully.

I pondered. What could I really do? If I hate them because they are barely doing their responsibilities, do I also have what it takes to change a system that has been corrupt for so long?

My mind was racing. I thought about all of these politicians in our community who promised change but never delivered, how power was abused for selfish reasons, and how the poor were left to suffer while the elite continued to thrive.

I stared at the chopping board, my mind working through every possibility. “I don’t know. But I think if I had the chance, I’d focus on the people. Not on power, not on prestige, but on the people. I’d work to make sure that the promises made aren’t just words—they’d be real. I want to help the poor, build better education systems, improve healthcare, and ensure that everyone can enjoy the freedom and rights they are entitled to.”

Grandma watched me quietly as I crushed the ingredients altogether. “You’re not wrong,” she said softly. “But you must remember that change doesn’t come easy. It won’t happen overnight, and it won’t be without challenges.”

“I know,” I said, my voice steady but filled with uncertainty. “But if no one tries, nothing will ever change. I don’t want to sit back and complain like everyone else. I want to be part of the solution.”

Grandma smiled then, a deep, knowing smile that seemed to reflect both pride and concern. “Naow so ikaritan ko. You really have grown a lot.”

She said I have the heart and mind, but politics can be a heavy burden. I have to be prepared for the sacrifices, for the compromises. “But if your heart remains true to your purpose, then it will guide you. Never lose sight of why you started,” she added while stirring the mixture continuously.

I nodded slowly. The steady and rhythmic sound of the ladle against the pan echoed throughout the kitchen. “Well then,” Grandma said, breaking the silence, “if you want to make a difference, you’d better learn the ropes. You can’t change the world sitting on the sidelines.”

I smiled, knowing she was right. “I’ll learn. One step at a time.” Grandma’s eyes twinkled. “Good. And don’t forget the most important thing: Always stay grounded. Never forget where you came from, and always listen to the voices of the people. They’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

APANG

Ingredients:

2 ½ kg of rice, ground
2 cups of coconut milk
2 cups of water
2 ½ cups sugar
1 tbsp of baking powder
3 large eggs

Procedures:

1. Soak the rice in water before grinding it for 3-4 hours.
2. Mix the ground rice with all the other ingredients, then leave it overnight or for 6-7 hours.
3. Heat the pan and grease it with oil (for better taste, you can use a mixture of eggs and oil).
4. Add the rice mixture in a circular motion to form its shape.
5. Wait for 2-3 minutes. Once the top of the mixture is cooked, remove it from the pan.

The sun has risen unusually brightly today. The morning breeze was cool and refreshing. It seemed like it was not just me enjoying the fresh air; the trees seemed to be enjoying it too, swaying gently as if dancing with the soft blow of the wind.

A delicious smell escaped from the corners of the kitchen, filling the air with a mouthwatering scent that was both buttery and creamy at the same time. I quickly turned my head, unable to resist whatever Aunt and Grandma were preparing.

From a distance, I could hear the faint sizzle of something cooking on the stove. As I approached the kitchen, the aroma grew stronger—there was no mistaking it. Grandma must be making her top-tier apang again. The sweet scent of her cooking always seemed to make the world feel a little brighter as if the whole day could only get better from here.

“Mapiya kapipita, Grandma!” I greeted her cheerfully. As usual, she replied to me with a big, warm smile. “Are you making apang?!” I shouted in excitement. “I knew it. I knew it was apang just by the smell!”

Grandma chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, it’s apang. You have a good nose, ikaritan ko. Go, and wake your Father and Mother and tell them the breakfast is ready.”

I shook my head and hurried to the bedroom, with my excitement growing with every step. As I entered, I saw them already making their beds and preparing our things. “Grandma’s almost done with the apang! It smells so good, you won’t believe it!” I said brightly.

“We know, son. We can smell it from here,” Father replied. “We’ll go downstairs in a bit.”

I rushed back to the kitchen and saw Grandma wiping her hands on her apron. “Where are they?” she asked. “Asiya, can you bring the native coffee here?”

I told Grandma that Mother was already packing. We might have to go back today as Father was summoned to the municipal hall due to an urgent matter.

“You’ll have to leave, then?” Grandma asked, her voice tinged with concern. “I guess so, Ome. We were planning to stay a little bit longer but I guess it can’t be helped,” Father replied, giving her a gentle smile. “It’s important. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure to stay longer next time. I promise.”

Aunt Asiya, who had been quietly sitting at the table, spoke up. “Well, I guess we can’t stop you. But you better come back for another round of kandori-like preparation.” She winked at me playfully.

Grandma laughed softly, shaking her head. “If only we had more time, I’d make sure you ate your fill. But for now, have some breakfast. After that, you may go and take care of things, Ibrahim.” My father nodded, his expression softening as he stood up. “Thank you, Ome.”

While we were eating, Grandma stood first to prepare the extra food she’d been wanting us to take home– piyaparan a bakas, dodol, palapa, and biyaring.

As we made our way out the door, there was a combination of melancholy and happiness. I saw Grandma for the last time. Her lips curved up gently as if the smile was trying to hold back tears. There was a softness in her eyes, a sparkle that hinted at happiness, but beneath it was an unspoken sadness.

My thoughts still linger on the comforting warmth of Grandma’s kitchen, and the way her laughter always made everything feel bright. Even though we were leaving for now, I knew that we would come back, soon.

But…

where do we return now that…

Grandma has peacefully rested?

The food she prepared wasn’t just to fill the stomach; it was to fill our hearts and minds with memories worthy of remembering.