Category: Short Story

Almayrah Tiburon

Parang humahaplot ang kurtina sa kanyang paanan. Banayad na itong gumagalaw dahil sa ihip ng hangin. Naramdaman niya ang unti-unting panlalamig ng buo niyang katawan. Kasabay ng pagtiktak ng orasan ay ang mabilis na pintig ng kanyang dibdib. Pumikit-dumilat siya. Hinila niya ang kanyang kumot hanggang sa leeg. Napakislot siya nang mabanaagan sa bintana ang nakadungaw na babaeng may mahabang buhok at maiitim na matang nanlilisik, titig na titig sa kanya. May dalang gulok ang babae.

Walang kakurap-kurap ang babaeng ito sa kanya. Ibinuka ng babae ang bibig nito at umaalingawngaw sa kanyang kwarto ang paulit-ulit na mga salitang hindi niya naiintindihan. Gusto niyang bumangon pero tila mabigat ang kanyang katawan. Paglingon niya sa kanan ay may lalaking nakahandusay, duguan at walang malay. Bumalikwas siya at napaupo. Sumisigaw siya ngunit walang anumang tunog na lumalabas sa kanyang bibig. Nangingilid sa kanyang mga mata ang luha dahil sa nakikitang kalagayan ng lalaking duguan, nakatali ang mga paa’t kamay. Tila inuutusan siya ng kanyang pusong tulungan ang lalaking ito kahit hindi naman niya ito nakikilala. Nanunuyo na ang kanyang lalamunan sa kasisigaw. Unti-unting nawala ang imahen ng lalaki at ang babaeng may dalang gulok.

Nagising si Bae nang naliligo sa kanyang pawis, “A, panaginip lang pala. Lailahailallah!”

Bumangon siya, nanaog upang uminom ng tubig. Madalas mangyari ito sa kanya simula nang mangibang bansa ang asawa. Madalas nakatitig siya sa kawalan at tumutulo ang mga luha. Naiisip niyang sana’y sumama na lamang siya sa asawa.  Para siyang pinanghihinaan ng loob sa tuwing naiisip niyang wala ito sa kanyang piling.

“Eto na naman ako, nag-iisa. Hay!” Bungtong-hininga ni Bae.

Kinabukasan, habang mabilis na naglalakad, dala ang libro at class record ay nakita niya ang paparating na estudyanteng hanggang tainga ang ngiti sa kanya.

“Magandang umaga, Ma’am,” bati ng estudyante.

Ngiti lamang ang itinugon niya at dali-dali na siyang pumunta ng faculty room. Agad siyang naupo at sumandal sa kanyang swivel chair.

Si Bae ay guro sa isang pamantasan. Palakaibigan siya. Palangiti. Ngunit sa likod ng magandang anyong iyon ay naroon ang kalungkutan. Akala ng iba’y wala siyang problema. Kapwa may kanya-kanya ng buhay ang bawat miyembro ng kanyang pamilya ngunit naroon pa rin ang pagdadamayan, kahit malayo pa ang mga  ito sa kanya.

Pangarap ni Bae na magkaroon ng sariling pamilya, simple at iingatan niya. Hindi niya hahayaang mawasak ito ninuman.

“Hindi!” Usal niya sa sarili. “Hindi ko makakaya kung masisira ang bubuuin kong pamilya na puno ng pangarap at pagkalinga.”

Sa pagkakaupo’y may bigla siyang naalala. Anim na taon pala siyang hinintay ni Fahad bago tuluyang maganap ang isang kasalang Meranaw. Marangya ang pagdiriwang. Dinaluhan ito ng mga kamag-anak, mga kaibigan, mga kasama sa trabaho, at mga kakilala. Ilang araw silang hindi nagkita upang paghandaan ang napakahalagang ritwal na ito sa kultura ng mga Meranaw.

Hindi pa nagtapos ang alaalang iyon. Sinariwa pa ni Bae ang huling pagyayakapan nilang dalawa bilang mag-asawa. Hinatid niya si Fahad sa Lumbia Airport. Papunta ito sa Qatar bilang engineer. Naniniwala kasi silang hindi dapat magkasaya sa pag-iibigan lamang, na magtitiyaga sila upang mapabuti ang kanilang kinabukasan.

“Phagilay ka … Pipikir angka pirmi na mahal na mahal kita,” bulong ni Fahad kay Bae.

“Oway. Penayaon aken seka. Kung mami-miss mo ako’y umuwi ka kahit zero at ako na ang bahala. Mahal na mahal din kita,” masuyong tugon ni Bae.

“Hoy, anong nangyayari sa’yo?” Tanong ni Aimah sa nagulat na kaibigang si Bae.

“Mukhang malayo na ang narating ng isip mo, a? Tara na, maglunch na tayo,” sabay haplos sa tiyan.

“O, sige,” wika ni Bae sa malungkot na tono habang nililigpit ang mga papel na nasa mesa.

Napansin ni Aimah ang kalungkutan ng kaibigan. Minsan na rin niyang nahuli na umiiyak

ito sa kuwarto. Batid niya ang dinadala nitong problema. Ngunit ilang araw na niyang napapansing may malaking pagbabago sa mga ikinikilos nito – balisa at laging walang kibo.

Sa faculty canteen ay nabibingi si Aimah sa katahimikan ng kaibigan.

“Ano na naman ba ang nangyari’t nagkakaganyan ka?”

“Wala!” Tanggi ni Bae, ngunit sunod-sunod na tumulo ang kanyang luha.

“Hindi ba, mag-iisang taon na kayo next month? O, ano, uuwi ba si Fahad? O, ikaw ang pupunta sa Qatar?”

“Hindi ko alam. Kahit tawag o text man lang, wala akong natanggap.”

“Baka surprise ang pag-uwi.”

Biyernes ng gabi, sabik na sinagot ni Bae ang cellphone niya. Si Fahad ang nasa kabilang linya.

“Bukas ay kasal ko na. Sana ay mapatawad moa ko,” walang gatol na bungad ni Fahad.

Umalingawngaw sa mga tainga ni Bae ang mga salitang iyon. Sandali siyang nabingi. Tingin niya sa paligid ay pinaghalong pula’t itim. Mabilis ang pagpintig ng kanyang dibdib. Muli niyang inilagay sa kanyang tainga ang cellphone.

“Antonaa i dangka raken kasowaten? Anong nagawa kong pagkakamali? Ganito ba ang tingin mo sa pagsasama natin? Huwag mong sasabihin sa akin na nabaling ang tingin mo sa iba dahil wala ako sa piling mo.”

“Antonaa i suwaan aken? Nangyari na ang nangyari at hindi na ito maibabalik pa. Isa pa, pwede naman ito sa ating kultura at mismong sa Islam, hindi ba?” Paliwanag ni Fahad.

“Simula noong una ay alam mo ng ayaw ko ng dowaya dahil ayaw kong may kahati ako sa’yo kahit pinapahintulutan pa ito ng Islam. Bakit mo hinayaang mahulog ang loob mo sa kanya samantalang alam mong naghihintay ako sa’yo? Naging mahina ka!” Mariing sabi ni Bae at pagkatapos ay pinatay niya ang cellphone.

Nang gabing iyon ay ipinaalam niya sa pamilya niya ang ginawa ni Fahad. Galit na galit ang mga ito sa lalaki. Hindi yumayakap sa poligamiya ang pamiya ni Bae – ang pag-aasawa ng higit pa sa isa. Wala silang makitang magandang dahilan para talikuran ni Fahad si Bae. Nagbunga ito ng maratabat sa pamilya.

“Lagi kaming nandito para sa ‘yo. Alam mong mahal na mahal ka namin,” sabi ni Farra, panganay na kapatid ni Bae.

Isang hatinggabi, isang babaeng mahaba ang buhok ang nakita ni Aimah sa kanyang panaginip, nakatalikod ito sa kanya. Mapanglaw ang mga mata ng babae, humihingi ng saklolo at umiiyak habang ang kaliwang kamay nito ay duguan. Huminga nang malalim si Aimah at saka siya dumilat. Bigla siyang napabalikwas nang maulinigan niyang umuungol si Bae. Nagpapang-abot ang hininga nito. Nasa sulok ng kwarto si Bae at nanginginig.

Nataranta si Aimah. Sinusumpong na naman ng sakit sa puso si Bae. Ginawa niya ang first aid na kanyang nalalaman hanggang sa mapakalma ang kaibigan.

Bumalik sila sa higaan. Narinig pa rin niya ang paghikbi ni Bae samantalang nakikiramdam si Aimah. May dalawang oras ding tahimik nang gabing iyon. Akala ni Aimah ay mahimbing nang natutulog si Bae. Kaya umidlip na siya. Ngunit isang kalabog ang gumimbal kay Aimah.

“Allahuakbar! Bakit mo ito ginawa?” Pasigaw na tanong ni Aimah. Panay ang punas ni Aimah sa kaliwang kamay ni Bae. Sunod-sunod ang patak ng dugo sa kamay nito na tinadtad ng hiwa ng blade.

“Banda giya i kabaya i Fahad, Aimah. Ganon din ang babae na matutuwa dahil magiging ganap na silang malaya,” sagot ni Bae.

“Aydo! Phamliin! Kung gusto mo siyang magsisi, magpatuloy ka sa buhay mo. Mabuti kang tao at matalino ka kaya hindi ko inaasahang maiisip mong gawin ito. Hindi ito ang solusyon sa lahat. Mabuhay ka at ipakita sa kanilang masaya ka at doon mararamdaman ng asawa mo ang pagsisising pinakawalan ka niya!”

“Ya Allah, pasensya na, wala kasi akong maisip kundi ang wakasan ang buhay ko. Hindi ako makapag-isip nang matino ngayon,” pagtatapat ni Bae sa kaibigan.

“Sige, inumin mo itong tubig. Huwag mo nang uulitin ito. Alam mo bang hindi ka tatanggapin sa langit kung nagkataon? Sa tingin mo ba, matutuwa ang lahat kung natuluyan ka? Bibigyan mo pa ng problema ang pamilya mo, rido ang iiwan mo sa kanila. Gusto mo bang magkaubusan kayo ng lahi? Mag-isip ka nga,” pagpapaunawa ni Aimah kay Bae.

“Hindi na ito mauulit, pangako,” banayad na tugon ni Bae. Tinungo niya ang banyo upang mag-ablution. Pagbalik ng kwarto ay nag-salaah.  Nanalangin siya at humingi ng tawad sa Panginoong ALLAH.

Tuloy ang magandang buhay kay Bae. Sumasama na siya lagi sa mga kaibigan. Ibinalik niya ang dating mga ngiti at biro. Wala na siyang aasahan kay Fahad, kahit text o tawag man lang. Ang mga kaibigan na lang muna niya ang kanyang kasama sa tawanan at sa iyakan na rin. Ang pamilya ang tanging higit na makakaunawa at susuporta sa kanya, sa kanila ay iuukol niya ang lahat ng tiwala at pagmamahal.

Mag-iisang taon na silang kasal. Isang taon sa bilang, ngunit hindi sa pagsasama bilang mag-asawa. At ang nalalabing isang buwan na sana’y pupuno sa isang taong iyon ay siya palang magwawakas nang tuluyan sa kanila bilang mag-asawa. Akala niya ay madali lang kalimutan ang isang Fahad. Ngunit nagkamali siya. Lagi pa rin niya itong naiisip. “Mahal ko siya pero ayaw ko ng dowaya. Alam kong siya ang may hawak ng talak pero makikiusap akong isauli niya ako sa pamilya ko,” usal niya sa sarili.

Huminga nang malalim. Pakiramdam niya’y gumaan ang kanyang kalooban.

Pauwi na si Fahad sa Pilipinas. Uuwi siya para makipagkasundo kay Bae, subalit napigil siya ng pagsusuka at pagsakit ng tiyan ng bagong asawa.

Wala nang hinihintay na Fahad si Bae. Sa isang sulok ng kanyang kuwarto ay natagpuan niya ang sariling takot na takot. Nakatitig sa kanya ang isang babaeng may dalang gulok.  Parang kinukurot ang kanyang dibdib dahil nahihirapan siyang huminga.

Tumakbo siya palabas ng kanyang kuwarto. Sinundan niya ang liwanag na nakita. Sa isang lagusa’y nakita niya ang lalaking nakahandusay. Nilapitan niya ito, duguan habang nakatali ang mga paa’t kamay. Humihingi ito ng saklolo sa kanya na para bang kilalang-kilala siya nito. Ito na naman ang lalaki sa kanyang panaginip, subalit ngayo’y malinaw niyang napansin ang suot nitong singsing.

Nagawa pa niyang tingnan ang kanyang palasingsingan. Suot niya ang wedding ring nila ni Fahad na kapareho ng suot na singsing ng lalaking nakahandusay. Sa likod ni Bae ay naramdaman niya ang pagbaon ng isang matalim na bagay. Alam niyang ito ang gulok na dala ng babae.

Sa labas ng bahay ay kumakatok si Aimah ngunit hindi siya pinagbubuksan ng pinto ni Bae. Marami pang katok ang sumunod. Nag-alala na si Aimah, kaya sapilitan niyang sinira ang door knob.  Dali-dali niyang tinungo ang kwarto nila ni Bae.

“Bae, tanghali na, gising na. Bae, Bae,” malakas ang tinig ni Aimah habang tinatapik-tapik ang kaibigan.

Hindi pa rin kumikilos. Kinakabahan at nananalangin na nang todo si Aimah na sana’y hindi totoo ang tumatakbo sa kanyang isipan. Natutulog pa rin ang kaibigan.

Hinawakan niya ang kamay ni Bae at naramdamang malamig na ito, “Innalillahi wainna ilayhi rajiun. Lailahailallah. Lailahailallah…” Malakas at paulit-ulit na sigaw ni Bae habang tumatangis na niyakap ang kaibigang wala nang buhay.

 

 

Almera A. Alimoden

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. The market was full of life—people were buying vegetables, children were laughing, and merchants were calling out prices. Everything felt normal until a loud voice broke through the noise.

“Help! Help! Someone stole my bag!” a woman cried out, panic in her voice.

People turned to look. Some ran toward the direction she pointed. Others stayed, watching the scene unfold. A few men tried to chase the thief, but the culprit was too fast and got away.

Just then, the woman continued shouting. A man in the crowd asked, “Do you remember his face?”

“Yes!” she answered. “He’s a fish vendor. What should I do now? I never thought that he would steal something from me.”

“What was he wearing?”

“A white shirt, blue jacket, and a short jean.”

By the end of the day, the story had reached every part of the town. Everyone was talking about the woman, the stolen bag, and the fish vendor who took it.

Among the crowd that day stood Hashim, a quiet and observant man who had only come to the market to visit a distant relative. He hadn’t joined the chase, but he watched closely. And he seems to recognize the man.

“Ameen…” he whispered to himself.

Ameen was his neighbor—a hardworking fisherman who supports three children. His wife died after giving birth. Known for his humility and honesty, Ameen had always kept to himself, focusing only on his livelihood and his children’s well-being.

Later that afternoon, Hashim returned home, hoping that what he feared was untrue. But there he was—Ameen—still in that same white shirt and blue jacket, at the front of his house.

“That has to be him,” Hashim thought. “It must be Ameen.”

And he was not wrong. Indeed, it was him.

On the same day, Hashim told others.

“Ameen stole something from the market.”

“No way,” someone said. “He’s a good man.”

“I swear, I saw him with my own eyes,” Hashim insisted.

At first, the neighbors didn’t believe it. But the rumor spread quickly. Soon, even those who liked Ameen started to wonder.

“Maybe life is just too hard for him. He has three kids. Maybe he didn’t have a choice,” they whispered.

Ameen had no idea people were talking about him. He continued with his daily routine—cooking, caring for his kids, and preparing to go fishing. On his way to the lake, he passed by a group of elders.

“Ameen! Going fishing again?” one of them, Sofiya, called out with a smile.

“Yes,” Ameen answered.

“Be careful,” Sofiya laughed, “you might catch a fish that is off-limits.”

The others laughed too. Ameen didn’t understand the joke but laughed along politely and walked away.

As he walked through the neighborhood, he heard children calling him a thief. People stared at him with judging eyes. His heart sank. He realized then what Sofiya had meant. He was on everyone’s lips. People were gossiping. And somehow, they all believed he had done something wrong.

Meanwhile, Hashim went to the police station to report the culprit in the theft.

“Sir, I’m here to report what I saw at the market yesterday,” he said.

The officer looked up. “You mean the case about Ameen?”

“Yes, that one!” Hashim replied quickly.

The officer shook his head. “That case was already solved. Ameen came in soon after the incident. The truth is that the woman refuses to pay for the fish she bought. So, he followed her, took the bag, and brought it directly to our station, hoping that he would obtain his right. Thankfully, the woman arrived.”

Hashim stood frozen. His heart dropped. He was wrong all along. And worse, he had helped spread false information about an innocent man. He returned home filled with guilt. The damage was done. Everyone already believed Ameen is a thief. People avoided him and his children were left out of games. Customers stopped buying from him; he was completely isolated with his children and never talked with the neighbors. His grace and smile gradually faded. He was ashamed to go outside and work, but he still did, because he had.

Even when Aling Sofiya’s hen went missing, neighbors quickly blamed Ameen again.

“He hasn’t been working. Maybe that’s why,” they whispered.

This time, Hashim couldn’t stay quiet.

“Stop blaming him!” he shouted. “Did anyone see him steal anything?”

But deep down, Hashim was angry at himself, not just at the others. He knew that he was the one who lit the match.

One day, he couldn’t take the guilt anymore. He went to Ameen’s house.

“I came to say sorry,” he said. “I am the one who spread the news about you, stealing at the market. I judged you without knowing the truth. I want to make things right.”

Ameen looked at him. “I will forgive you,” he said quietly. “But only if you do something for me.”

“Anything,” Hashim replied. “Tell me.”

“Help me burn the waste papers I have in my house,” Ameen said.

Hashim did what he was told and came later to him.

“I burned them, just like you asked.”

“Good,” Ameen said. “Now bring back the papers you’ve burnt the way it was. All of them.”

Hashim looked confused. “That’s not possible. They’re ashes now.”

Ameen nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I want you to understand. The same way those papers turned to ashes and cannot be brought back, your words did the same to me. You burned my name. My place in this neighborhood. And no matter what you do, you can’t bring that back.”

Hashim’s heart broke. Tears welled in his eyes. He finally understood the weight of what he had done.

 

 

Abdulhamid C. Alawi, Jr.

Khalil came into the world as a symbol of a town’s resilience in the face of natural calamities. Khalil was born in Bubong, Tugaya, during the late 1950s. He grew as beautifully as his community, which was gracefully recovering from the earthquake of 1955. As a young man, his body slowly and steadily gained strength as he joined his community in rebuilding their houses with sturdier structures.

“Khalil! Join us, boy!”, his father called him from the masjid with its door being refurbished. In Tugaya, restoring a door or any wooden part of the masjid is another masterpiece being crafted. Ranaw bows down to their carving skills.

The boy came, sat, and watched his elders. At times he assisted in lifting logs in place after being formed into wooden masterpieces. In a matter of days, he was able to summon enough confidence to hold the tools. His father and uncle patiently taught him the strokes. They initially expected that he could be in for a long grind.

In their time, standards were high. While tourists these days bargain for shallow and poorly crafted wooden carvings at Davao’s Aldevinco or Manila’s Quiapo, the early versions had leaf and petal curves of dapal, potyok, and todi etched deeply into the wood for at least two inches. Boring into the wood took a lot of effort because only the oldest, toughest lumber was chosen. The finest curvatures of pako rabong and lawi can only be done in such, probably, ancient hardened timber. No tree in Ranaw now comes half the age of what used to be brought down from the Great Mount Gurain. These were the levels of artwork that made the impressive torogans of the past.

The boy was not difficult to train, as it turned out. Genes may have played a role or he knew his passions at an early age. His uncle had him advancing in skills quickly. He even added some personal strokes of his own, although generally, the traditional masterful strokes that Maranaw were known for dominated.

“What did I tell you? He is a natural,” his father exclaimed.

Khalil also did well in madrasah. He walked daily to school, routinely aced schoolwork, and walked back home along the natural beauty of Bubong that has given him creative inspirations. He enjoyed Arabic calligraphy the most. He saw the various inscriptions at home, and when the same Holy Verses were presented in another form in the Quran he had in the madrasah, he felt a jolt of excitement. Rapidly, he again progressed in knowing various strokes in Magrebi and Diwani. He mastered, too, when to relax for the informal and modern ones.

The boy took pride in his carving and calligraphy. However, the real masterpieces were in his imagination.

He had heard of the grand welcome for his cousin Luqman. Luqman, who was at least fifteen years his senior, had arrived after studying in Madinah. Khalil’s family shared they wanted him to be next in the clan’s growing list of Islamic scholars. He visualized himself in such a status too.

He saw himself giving eloquent sermons in the same masjid where his clan’s woodworks and calligraphy are displayed. He would sit right in the middle during Friday sermons delivered by Kaka Luqman and looked around, imagining it all play out in his own future at the backdrop of elegant art.

On top of that, he was an obedient son who played actively until adolescence. He was an active lad but never to the detriment of his studies or duties. Relatives liked him for all that he was. In fact, he was also good-looking. Considering his family’s lineage, he was a promising young lad for his community. Those were the best times of his life. Khalil was indeed the darling kid of his town.

Unfortunately, conflict caught up with him. Rido and its vagaries necessitated changes. Male members of his family were willing to kill to prove that the family intended to maintain their prestige and maratabat. In return, other younger men like him had to flee due to communal fear of retaliation against them. That was another aspect of being the apple of his relatives’ eyes. Young nobles had to be saved. He had to leave his hometown and madrasah. Literacy was relegated to a lower station in the order of priorities.

Khalil suddenly became an ever-adjusting young man in Metro Manila. He lived with his elder cousin. Since there were no integrated schools yet, instead of starting over in school, he chose to work and earn for himself and his family back home. At a young age, he realized that without education, all he could earn in the Philippines were crumbs. Moreover, as a Muslim in 1970s Manila, the prospects of finding a respectable job were bleak. Prejudices based on his name and accent were common.

He learned something from his cousins who returned from Saudi Arabia. They said that hefty sums of riyals came with less discrimination in religious life. His decision came quickly, as many Filipinos were going abroad. With some help from relatives, he was able to gather the right set of documents. Saudi Arabia was the prime destination for him. His main motivation, aside from earning, was learning. For him, his arrival in Jeddah was an opportunity to be closer to the Two Holy Cities. He intended to work in Jeddah but fantasized about being able to study, as others had completed their studies at a university in Madinah or Makkah.

Once abroad, the young overseas contract worker (OCW) realized his contract to be actually unfavorable for him. He returned home after two years empty-handed but with better strategies for his next contract. A few contract extensions allowed him to save. He spent a large sum on the studies of his nephews and nieces and landed another contract. The next tour of duty was as tough as the bruising Middle Eastern conflict in Kuwait. He ended up as a TNT, or Tago Nang Tago, the Filipino slang for a person in hiding. He hid among his fellow Filipinos until finally, after a long wait, the Philippine Embassy repatriated him back home.

He flew, this time to Riyadh, one last time. The Philippine Government now referred to him as an Overseas Filipino Worker, with supposed added respect and benefits. Politicians capitalized on calling him a modern-day hero. They were indeed heroes in terms of their sacrifices. In terms of government services for them, that is another story.

Towards the end of his last stint abroad, Khalil started to reflect. All those years, he had forgotten about his studies. There were not many options for those who wanted new skills and knowledge. He stared at his aged face in the mirror and conceded that he had been discriminated against by Arabs whom he thought were his brothers, his rights not amply supported by his government, and generosity likely taken advantage of by relatives.

He finally decided to rest and went directly to his hometown. His Kaka Luqman was still celebrated not just as an aleem but also as a retired public servant who was thrust into public office during the height of Ulama joining Ranaw politics in the 1990s. Khalil was proud of how things had gone with his cousin. He tried to ignore it, but as he went for prayer in the masjid, it sank in. He was saddened by what had happened to his innocent promises to himself, beautifully drawn like the wooden okir and calligraphies in the masjid. They had all become naught. He felt the need to surrender those dead hopes he had held onto for too long and tried to be at peace with himself.

Khalil never married and had no children to his name. The Madinah diploma had become impossible, and most of his savings were short-lived. He learned soon that all he had with him was liver cirrhosis and a few more months. He passed away with rubbed-out dreams and unrewarded resilience amidst the many man-made issues in his hometown, in Metro Manila, and abroad.