Tag: August 22, 2015

I WANTED someone to tell me that this wasn’t really happening.

I felt a brief sting in my stomach. I started to cramp. It’s becoming impatient. I can’t call it “he” or “she” yet; I’m not ready.

“Hoy, girl!” Maya waved her hand in front of my face and clutched at my arm. “Let’s go sit down first. I’m all sweaty from that jeepney ride. If only I had saved enough for that second-hand motorcycle Nestor was selling.”

I couldn’t focus on what she was saying. My eyes roamed around the room before I fixed them on the dull-looking wall. “Look at my face. It’s terrible,” she exasperatedly said, fanning herself with a frayed hand towel.

My voice was shaking. “I’m sorry for dragging you here. I didn’t want to go alone.”

THE MOTHER was haunted,

by memories of her son:

camouflaged in green,

and stained by red—

nightmares that made her break

in cold sweat,

pray to all the saints

that the heavens protect her dearest

from the enemy’s bullets.

She relived the days when her soldier was but

a little boy who always cried in school.

“Mama!” he implored,

as he marched back home,

a school bag hanging from his shoulder

alongside young men in faded polo shirts and slacks.

Soon, his shoulder bore the weight

of a mud-splattered rifle,

and he marched with men in proud salute,

who returned without him