Beyond Her Rubrics Cube and Ginisang Gulay

Nina didn’t see any changes. As she gazed towards their barrio’s bountiful field, she allowed her arms to flail freely through the open window in the warmth of the summer’s day. The heat consumed her body and almost burnt her skin. The panoramic view of towering acacia and bamboo trees beside their kubo were like splendid living replicas of heavenly stairways, along with her garden, countless Gumamelas, Maravillosas and Ilang-ilang shaded in different hues of which she planted three years ago, and was fenced by sun burned bamboo poles and cogon grasses, had burst into full bloom . Almost everything was at their usual, but not quite.

No room for much admiration because she still have to cook afternoon meal for her sickly father. A steaming ginisang gulay would probably fit for a good meal. As she headed back in the kitchen, she noticed her old Rubric’s cube on top of their almost worn-out rattan couch. Surprisingly, it was perfectly arranged according to colors. It was beautiful. No one would dare to arrange it for there were only two of them inside the kubo. As she was going to inquire him, her father spoke of assertion in low-tone which was apparently much to her amazement.

Forgiveness in Denmark

 

“Thank you for your help, perhaps this amount will make you understand how precious is my grandson,” Mr. Rimas said as he handed me a check.

There is something on his lap, hidden by his other hand. I tried to ignore it, so I smiled and nodded as a sign of thanks. He looked at the clouds outside the window the plane, seemed to be very excited to see the grandson he had never seen for five years.

Squeezed

It was already dusk when he arrived at the gate.

His eyes were immediately riveted to some children playing under the huge Christmas tree. A mango tree that was decorated with Christmas lights stood close to it.

He took out an old cellular phone inside his pocket. No messages. He squared his shoulders and heaved a great sigh. He looked at his own hands, which were already weary from pushing his own wheelchair. He tightened his grip on the wheels even more and turned them slowly forward. No one noticed his arrival when he painstakingly tried to squeeze himself through the main door.

Impairment

The black wooden casket drew attention inside the white painted walls. The curtains were drawn apart and the wide open door seemed welcoming. The lit candles beside the coffin danced along with the sweeping breeze as if inviting him to see his long lost mother.

Raspberry

 

The umbrella lay on the sidewalk, oblivious to his anger. That was the last I saw of him, cursing and beating the poor thing because it was stuck—not being of service despite the beating rain.

Stuck

The gate creaked with rusty decay.

A nearby karaoke bar aired an array of novel songs. A ten-wheeler truck overflowing with rice sacks passed by. Clumsily assembled “tricycles” cluttered the now paved road. Always in a hurry to get to their destination. No time for slowing down.

Chalice

Fr. Ignacio gave a last glance at the orange sun half-submerged in the gleaming sea from the window and took a sip from the silver cup which contained a reddish liquid. “I’m sorry I brought you here, Elena. I didn’t know that our stroll on the shore would tire you immediately.”

Behind Rusty Bars

It was Friday afternoon. The rain had just ceased and a dark cloud was hovering in the sky, a little ray of light slicing through the clouds signaling sunset. Amon walked along a street bustling with people, sidewalk vendors of various items, beggars and vehicles racing on the nearby road. His left hand balled beside the matchbox inside the pocket of his jacket while hiding a cigarette on his right hand.

His feet brought him to the gate of San Pedro Cathedral, where more physically challenged beggars, balloon vendors and stalls of saint replicas slowly packing their items. A fat, old woman on a wheel feeding pigeons with corn caught Amon’s attention. Her hair was short, it is more like a boy cut hair, and almost all white. She was wearing a floral dater while a red cellophane filled with corn sat on top of her lap, and she was holding a tin can on her hand, with meager coins, despite the fact that she’d been there all day. Her face wrinkled whenever she throw corn onto the wet pavement, cheerfully awaiting the pigeons to flock around the grains of corn scattered all over. There were a variety of pigeons flying all over, from black to gray to white, but they all had bloody red eyes. They were all soaked, maybe because the rain and some pigeons were shivering.