Volunteer Work
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The female character in my prose is nameless.
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Disregarding the fact that it is my cousin’s birthday, I remember how we once celebrated All Saints’ Day. Grandma dangled all the doorknobs in my auntie’s house with rosaries. It kept all the spirits from entering the rooms, she said. She offered food for the departed. A sole plate full of the same birthday meal caught my eye. I asked mom if I could take a pinch off that lechon. No.
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First day of November, All Saints’ Day. It is mandatory to come home. There is a family reunion whether you’re alive or not. And the carnival – who would want to miss the awesome carnival in the evening?
I hitched from Quezon City to Cavite City in my brother’s car. With the booze from last night still kicking in, I snapped away even with the glass window coating in between the camera and the moving world.
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Too many people going underground
Too many reaching for a piece of cake
Too many people pulled and pushed around
Too many waiting for that lucky break
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She dresses for the weather.
The canopy of clouds only depicts immaturity. She is sure – it is a lonely picture if she were to frame the world outside.
As she opens the door from the darkness of her room, the mood settles. She remembers her mother pinning clothes fresh from washing.
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I caught her taking a swig out of the orange juice tetra pack. There was a steady stream about her cheek.
A clownish commotion in the living room was taking the spotlight. That was where I left Cheesecake and Beefcake. They were the cheeky aunties of dear old Clara. You noticed her when she came in just right after me, didn’t you? There were bright drip-drops on her fleece-white polo shirt.