Nostalgic Moments

 

            The humid, metropolitan air blasts into my face the second I step out of the automatic, sliding doors and into the front of the crowded Aquino Airport sidewalk in Manila Philippines. The heavy, brown smog that came from the excess of tricycles, jeeps and taxis fills my nostrils as I carefully push the cart full of my family’s suitcases stacked on top of one another. On the other side of the ‘Passenger Pick-Up’ lane are my mother’s sides of the family fervently waving at us.

            Ten days have passed after settling into our first, abandoned house that we occupied years ago before we moved out of the country. I am outside on our concrete, gray porch sprawl over on a green, plastic chair, exhausted, after doing hard labor of manually pulling out overgrown weeds that grew on our neglected front yard. Beside me is a bowl of ripe, sliced mangoes personally picked from our mango trees, and a small condiment filled with salt. I sigh picking up a piece of the wild, tropical fruit and slowly dipping it into the salt. I lean back squinting at the bright, yellow sun reminiscing how much I miss its recognizable warmth and the way it reminds me of my careless childhood days which I remember as my golden years. After staring at the sun for too long, I whip my head away from it, and glance at the small, brown hill that once stood proud and tall as a lush, green mountain that used to be like a lingering giant keeping watch over me behind our unpainted, cottage-like home. Then an overwhelming, undeniable feeling washes over me.

               Adrenaline pumped into my veins as my nimble, seven years old hand grabbed onto a loose, tree branch pulling my small body upwards ignoring the irritable ache in my shoulders. Sweat beads trailed down my eyebrows and into the corners of my eye, slightly blurring my vision. However, I was too excited to regret why I even bother begging my older sister to allow me to join her mountain hiking in the middle of the hot summer. The scorching heat from the sun profusely beats down on my bloated face as I tried to get a proper holding of my foot on top of a larger rock that was wedged inside the brown, dried dirt. I reached for another sturdier branch while lifting my other feet on the next available rock that I could find almost catching up to my sister. I winced at the irritable pain when my ankles brushed along the sharp thorns of the vines that grew close to the ascending ground and grimaced at the tiny multiple holes of my white, cotton shirt. After hiking for a while, the small, narrow path that leads to the flat peak of the mountain came to view. The pathway seems to be swallowed up by ominous, native Kalayaan trees blocking the sun’s rays from penetrating into the ground creating tall, wide shadows that gleefully danced within the winded, exiguous road. A tiny shiver of excitement ran down my spine like a cold bucket of water of the thought of passing through it. Lastly I blissfully gazed down at the rural people tending to their rice fields at the base of the immature mountain as their bright color straw hats slightly simmered at the sweltering sun. I must have been watching at them for too long because my sister suddenly calls out.

            “Bonn! Come on! We don’t have all day long!” She yells as her dark figure went deeper into the shadowy road.

            “Wait up!” I shouted as loud as my lungs can carry.

            The cool, oppressed air heavily shrouded above the gray, colorless pathway creating an illusion as silver mist made of water vapors casually drifted and shifted into incoherent shapes mostly covering the top of the trees and slightly letting few drops of sunlight pass through. As we forced our way, slowly ascending to the top, the foreboding mist gradually disappeared and my eyes swiftly noticed the pearly, red berries glistening in the faint, golden rays as if tempting me to stop and have a taste. Hearing my sudden footsteps stopped, my sister turned around seeing my eyes glued to the particular shrubs and swiftly cautioned me of the bright, ruby poisonous berries that grew alongside of the rocky trail. I loudly sighed in discontent resisting against the urge to pluck the small, forbidden fruits and shoving them inside my pocket. My muddy, brown sneakers crunched the small, rounded pebbles that littered across the path while I distracted myself ogling in full awe of the Kalayaan trees that greatly flourished and thrived under the incinerating sun as its thick, multiple branches dreamingly reaches further into the indigo sky creating transparent shadows that artistically blending in with the luscious background. As we dwelled deeper into the passage way, the number of annoying pebbles decreased and tiny patches of green grasses began to grow associated with grasshoppers. The subjugating atmosphere that appeared in the beginning of our trek was gradually lifted and was replaced by a more cheerful, breezy wind. The winded road suddenly came to a stop revealing a fresh, secluded pasture it seemingly tried to protect from outsiders. I involuntary covered my mouth holding my breath to prevent the meager gasp to escape thus ruining the everlasting peace that settles across the grass field. My eyes widened in veneration absorbing the sudden calmness that overcame my whole body as if my burdens were taken away from my shoulders and slowly closed my eyes barely listening for the soft tweeting of the mocking birds to the delicate swaying of the copious, meadow flowers. My exhaustion was completely erased and forgotten while my newly-formed bruises were suddenly healed at the indescribable sight.

              I hesitantly blink as the image is pull back inside the dark abyss of my mind while acknowledging that after that fateful day, we kept that place a secret as our own shelter from the outside world and also a place to escape from the harsh world of reality. The simple feelings that I once felt and deemed as the greatest moment of my childish life became just a tiny, distant memory that’s barely out of reach. I once again stare at the bare hill that now sags; all of the life drained away from excess logging and erosion continuously wears away its proud figure. I swallow the remaining last piece of the Indian mango leaving a faint, bittersweet aftertaste in the back of my tongue as I wonder whether the pasture has been eroded away or been trying to cling to life ever since.

             Ten days have passed, and our newly front yard blossoms with newly plant yellow daisies. I happily skip towards our red, rusting gate unaware of the gathering of the hazy, pitch-dark clouds. In my hand holds a particularly red, straw bag ideal for storing organic fruits and vegetables. I open the red, rusting gate cringing at the screeching sound it made. I step out of our newly painted house overlooking at the newly, concrete foundation that replaced the ancient bike path that used to ran across our land. Customized, vintage jeeps slowly zoom past me one after another till there was a silence gap with just me and the empty road. It's a different sort of foreboding silence. My eyes unknowingly glue itself at the white stripes on the middle of the black road as overwhelming sadness sweeps over me. All of the sudden as if clawing its way out of my locked, forbidden memories, the sound of faint yelps gradually increases replacing the heavy, menacing silence.

             I silently screamed at the bloody sight of my beloved Askal lying helplessly on the dirty road after being accidently ran over. His sharp cries still echoed inside my head while I tried to grasp why the driver of the silver jeep didn't even bothered to step on the brake after seeing my black dog crossing to the other side. My mother probably heard my shouts hurriedly ran towards me slamming the freshly, red painted gate behind her. We stood there for seemingly forever staring at the limp corpse of our family protector unable to register the undeniable shock. His high pitching yelps eventually turned into faint, low whimpers while his creamy, brown eyes became coldly dead in seconds. My knees wobbled with great precision of trying to keep me from collapsing to the ground and tearing my hair out in red, boiling anger. In that particular moment, I felt like the world I knew has been forcibly yanked under my feet because of the whirlwind of emotions that passed through. The thought of taking revenge against the faceless driver crossed my 10 years old mind while tears streamed down my face as I dug my nails into my palms mourning at the sudden death of my best friend. I vividly imagined multiple tortures I could have inflicted upon the driver's body to make him feel the pain that my Askal had went through. I stared in daze while my family members took away his disfigured body from the middle of the road and ignored few of our neighbors’ pressing questions. It was an inevitable, unavoidable situation where a part of me already knew that someday I had to say goodbye, but didn't exactly know when. I wondered if I had experienced this much conflicted emotions through the passing of my dear, loyal companion then what would I have to go through after saying my last farewell to my human love ones.

            I close my eyes in remembrance of my fallen comrade thinking of him happily running across the great pasture in the blue sky. I once again lock the painful memory and thrown away the key. I trudge back to the house with a heavy heart no longer looking forward to explore the town’s market. I glance at the growing cumulonimbus clouds and notice the drastic temperature drop. I grab my brown, wool blanket and casually sit on the green, plastic chair on the open porch mimicking my old, particular habit as a child. I drape the blanket over my shoulders and I patiently wait for the rain to come. The light pit-pat sound of the raindrops slows my heartbeat and my eyes began to droop carefully listening to the calm melody of the rain softy hitting the ground. Each drop somehow represents my faded memories and how it gradually reaches up to the surface breaking my laid barriers before falling back to the deep oblivion.