wolves in my garden

“Pie, halika sa room may sasabihin daw sa yo si Lino”.

“Ha? E bat kelangan pa ng messenger? Pwede naman sya pumunta dito”.

“Basta. Di sya makaalis dun e”.

I remember that day vividly in my mind, right now. The walk down the darkened corridors; shadows alternating now and then with the light, spilling from the open central courtyard of the dilapidated dormitory I have lived in for three years; crossing that same courtyard overgrown with tall grasses and clothes, hung to dry in makeshift clotheslines tied at the steel rods of two basketball rings; all the fairy-tale details in place, down to the motes hanging suspended in the air of that room; dancing, it seems with the golden sunlight falling through the windows with the rusted iron grills.

Those windows. That room. My mute witnesses to later proceedings that no doubt, have marred my tender psyche. For a moment it seems I’m in that room again, ten years ago; negotiating through a mess I have not imagined myself falling into.

Eto naman ako, si tanga, sumama.

to be continued