Photo taken from Google, Edited by Author
"Saan na si daddy?"
I didn't know why mommy looked at me the way she did. Her head snapped down to meet my eyes, the supposed smile lines instead making her look more aged. I don't look away, curiousity clear in my own bright eyes. My small hand was still clutching at her skirt, my stuffed toy in the other. It was similarly weathered down, looking scruffy but no less loved, even with a missing buttoned eye.
Mommy sighed softly, her breath shaky and tired. She was always tired, both her and daddy. Day in and day out I had woken up from my nap to the sound of barely concealed whispers in my living room. During the day, my parents talked about the rising prices, and how they needed to tighten their belts to properly sustain my already skinny frame. Something about being born during a dark time. While at night, they whispered something about how they needed to move quickly, or they all might get caught.
Something about being born during a dark time.
Mommy finally blinked at me; I guess she finally realized that she hasn't answered me yet. She tried to give me a reassuring smile but it came out more as a weird looking cringe. I make a face back at her, but I'm quickly calmed as she pat my head. "Don't worry anak. Si daddy mo...umalis lang siya."
Her voice was gentle and calm, but tired and...sad? On one hand, it reminded me of the lulling voice that she used to try and get me to sleep. It didn't really work most of the time, though; the shouting people outside and the fireworks they blew up always kept me awake. And even through the worn window of our home, I could never really see the fireworks' colors blearing through the hazy sky. But my mommy always insisted that they were there, and that I didn't need to look--that I shouldn't look. I always trusted her, so I never really bothered again. I just closed my eyes and tried to ignore the noise.
But on the other hand, the weariness of her voice reminded me of how she spoke to daddy and my other titos, with such an urgency and resignation that it reminded me moreso of how she scolded me whenever I stayed up too late. Usually, a light pinch to my arm would be able to get me scurrying back to my room, but she didn't pinch my daddy. She did hold him, though. She clutched his arms, his hands, seemingly as if she was still in disbelief that he was here with us. They never noticed me on the rickety stairwell of our home, watching them as they whispered among themselves, but one time my gaze caught the eye of one of my titos.
Daddy's younger brother, who used to be a construction worker, caught me watching them. Instead of telling on me back then, he merely gave me a small smile and a wave in greeting. His hand and wrist looked thinner--everything about him looked thinner, now that I remember. His cheeks lost the ruddiness they usually had, and the sandos and polos that he always wore now hang loosely over his shoulders. It didn't help since his naturally tanned skin now had mottled, purple bruises on them, especially on his legs. I could never really bring myself to ask where he got them, so I only waved back to him before I retreated back to my room.
It's been a while since I've seen tito now, too.
"Kailan po siya babalik?" I asked, tilting my head. Mommy flinched before she started to walk into our living room, not answering my question. I huffed and toddled after her, my teddy bear gripped tight. "Mommy! Saan siya pumunta?" I pouted up at her, demanding an answer the way only a child could.
She sat down on one of the larger chairs we had, seated in front of our old television set. It was one of mommy's most favorite places to sit. She used to write here, in our living room. She usually came home late, her notebooks practically spilling out of her bag. She used to be much more lively, with stories about the people she interviewed and the places she's been. I always laughed at her stories, most of the time in awe at how she was able to connect her words together; she's a writer! So of course she was good at it.
Well, she used to be a writer. All of a sudden, I think she lost her job along the way. Gone were the days of her listing down her notes and organizing her papers, excitedly telling me about how she's going to pitch an article to her boss by the next day. Now, she mostly just sat down in front of the TV, listening on to the droning stories. She didn't smile as much now, but she always did her best to at least pretend.
Our television was on right now, the reporter on the screen practically dazzling with the iron pressed coat he had on. I remember mommy once mentioned how she had submitted a report to a television station, and she was waiting for it to be broadcasted. Me, mommy, and daddy had waited, and waited, and waited for her supposed report to be shown, but after a week we had eventually moved on. Still though, mommy always kept the television on even if she was only half listening.
Like right now, as she patted her lap to beckon me closer. I scrunch my face up at her and put my hands on my hips as I nonetheless inched closer. "Saan po pumunta si daddy?" I ask again, less incensed than before. My bare feet scooted closer to my mommy before finally relenting, raising my arms up towards her. Silently, she pulled me up on her lap, nestling me against her comfortably.
As I lean against her, I notice how even mommy had gotten thinner, felt even through the faint fabric of her shirt. Both her and daddy have been losing weight, and the wrinkles on their face have grown deeper from always knitting their brows together. Sometimes I get worried, with how stern they look most of the time. In my quiet reprieve at the top of the stairs, I peek through the railings and watch as they tirelessly move small bags here and there, careful to not make any more noise than necessary.
But then they look at me, and they smile so sweetly that all at once they're my parents again. I always grin back, my gummy smile and small teeth bright. Usually they chase me back to our shared bedroom, but I don't really mind as it gives me an excuse to be tucked back into bed. I always ask them if they can sleep in the bed with me, but only very rarely do they comply. They always promise that maybe next time, but the next time never came. I sometimes get jealous at whatever task they're doing, but my daddy always made me promise to not look through the bags, that it was for him and my titos to open.
...One time, I disobeyed him.
I couldn't help it! Both him and mommy were out of the house, and I didn't have much else to do. My homework was already done, and I eventually got tired of watching television; some of my favorite shows were gone now, so I was bored. I finally gathered the courage to open one of the bags tucked into the corner. I promise, it was only a peek! I didn't even pull anything out!
Imagine my disappointment then when I found out that they were just...boards. Illustration boards and wooden boards, with a collection of similarly wooden planks stuffed next to them. I saw paint and markers too, shoved inside and at the bottom of the bag. I have to admit, I was tempted to use the markers and paint to doodle over my school notebooks, but doing so would mean that daddy would know that I disobeyed him! So I quickly zipped the bag back up and used my regular ballpens instead, drawing stars and flowers into my notebooks' lined pages.
"Anak?"
My mother's voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I blink my eyes up at her, back to attention. She was running her thin hand through my hair, unkempt and tangled. Despite the gauntness of her hands, her touch was as gentle as always. I sigh contentedly and let her play with my hair, before she finally spoke again. "Si daddy mo, meron lang siyang pinuntahan. Kasama niya mga tito mo, pero babalik rin naman sila." She assured, her voice holding a strained hope in her voice. She glanced at the corner of the living room where the collection of bags was once kept. It was now empty--probably taken by my daddy and titos?
I squint my eyes up at her and pout, my stuffed toy clutched to my chest. "Weeeeehhh!" I jeer, earning a laugh from my mommy.
She wrapped an arm around me and squeezed me briefly, her hug warm and comforting even with her weary frame. "Wag ka mag-alala, anak. Makikita rin natin siya ulit." She promised, the tone of her voice lighter, her smile sweeter.
I gave her another doubtful look, my eyes leaving her face and glancing at the still droning television. But suddenly, I gasp excitedly and point at the screen, the smile on my face finally blooming. "Mommy! Tama ka! Look oh, sina daddy!"
And there he was, my father's face plastered on the screen. Next to him was my tito's face, and my other tito's face...it was as if all the titos that had once visited our home were now on the TV, their gazes solemn. I didn't pay attention to whatever the reporter said; who cares, my daddy was on TV!
I giggle and clutch at my mommy's arm, lightly shaking it. "Mommy! Sikat na sina daddy!" I cheer, my stuffed toy falling to the floor as I practically jumped in my mother's laugh. The remaining button on it's face glinted up at me, half blind and half seeing. Mommy was silent, her eyes wide and glassy. The smile on her face was weirdly gone, instead replaced by a strained, tense frown and a quivering gasp.
Mommy, this was a good thing!
Mommy, I saw daddy on the TV!
...Mommy, why are you crying?
