part II
One time, my world turned to University
of Southern Philippines .
ashes when I lost something dear to me. My grasshopper. I had it at our
neighbor’s yard. It was given to me when I was six by a playmate of mine whom I
hardly remembered the name since we just met a few days after I was transferred
to study at the
My schoolmates that time happened to play nearby where his house was. He just
stood by the door and watched us; aloof and silent. I stared at him for quite a
long time and from the distant I could see that he had something on his hands.
It was moving. I got curious and went nearer to see what it was. It was green
as the grasses and had a very rigid pair of wings. It eyes were big and it got
sharps fringed on its thin and static legs. I could still make out, even until
now, the weird smell of the grasshopper especially when it got mixed up with
the sweat from that boy’s palms. Its rotting odor gave me a nausea when it was
suffocated to death. Nevertheless, the thing fascinated me. I couldn’t recall
the exact details but I was sure that he gave it to me without any hesitation,
the moment he saw my amusement towards it.
I was planning to take it with me
when we would move out. So I locked it up in an empty jar of Ovaltine. From
time to time, I would drop green grasses for its food and I would shook the jar
if it would not respond to my simple act of care. I continued doing such
generosity until one rainy day, after returning home from the church, I noticed
its fetid odor. It died because of suffocation. Little did I know that life was
short and that all things cannot be owned forever. Freedom had to be given over
the sake of something you love. From then on, I stopped laboring under the
delusion of having it with me and started to condition myself in a state of
weary acceptance of its death. I was the cause of its long agony. That made the
situation worse.
I could still make out my pink dress
with flowery designs on its flowing skirt and embedded with pink laces and
sashes soaked in mud when I gave my grasshopper a proper burial just like my
grandfather’s. Placing it inside a red box of Colgate, I dug for its grave.
Earth inserted in my nails and mud found a good spot on my favorite dress and
white, knee-highed stockings. But I didn’t give notice to that because in the
eyes of a six-year old child, I just committed a crime of murder.
But all mourning must came to an
end. I had mine after less than ten minutes after I had a hallucination of the
mud as a melted sweet chocolate. Yup, a thin smile formed on my lips. Kneeling
down, I dipped my hands on the wet, thick-soiled earth and played with it. I
don’t know how long I was soaked in the rain but I was having the time of my
life until our nosy neighbor found me in my joyous act and told my father. Next
thing I knew, a pair of strong arms lifted my whole body from the ground. Lying
down on my father’s arms, I studied his face. His face was blank. When we
reached inside the house, he stared at me. No, he can’t stay mad for his
youngest daughter whom he loved dearly. I was Princess Hayde. I’d seen him got
mad towards my older brother and sisters but not to me. But he was. He spanked
my mud-covered palms. I cried so hard until my voice defeated me. What was more
disheartening was when no one bothered to defend me. My mother was on my side
and tried to calm me down but it was not enough for me. It was not I who must
relent but my father. It was he who needed to calm down. I was happy and I was
still in good shape. I do not see the need to get angry. I started to doubt if
he was still my loving father whom I knew. Why could a person who loved you
could afford to get mad on you? He was so furious because I might get sick
after spending so much time under the rain. Grown-ups can be so presumptuous.
And I can be so obstinate. But I didn’t realize that later on when I was burning
with fever the next day.
Sometimes the people who loved
you can afford to be mad and even hurt you when they knew you were already over
the edge of endangering yourself. When you loved a person so much, you had to
make that person away from any harm even if it took the pain of
misunderstanding your intentions. But at that time, even a blow cannot made me
realized that. For me, it was just one of love’s complications I don’t want to
go over with.
I had been sick for almost a week
and since no one could watch me everyday, I was left at my grandparent’s house.
I vomited, refused to eat or take my medicine (I always hate medicine even
until now), and cried a lot. My only consuelo
de bobo was my grandma’s one-of-a-kind chocolate rice. That was the only
food my stomach would welcome. I don’t know how she made it so special among
the others’ but it certainly brought a curing substance the moment its fumes
entered into my nostrils. Not only was my grandma good in cooking but she’s
also one of the best embroiderers the town had during that time (as what my
mother would proudly recall until now). I believed it myself when I recalled
the beautiful self-made ragged doll which she gave to me when I was very sick.
It was a size like that of a regular stuff toy. Its skin was made of cacha cloth and strips of thin foam were
placed inside to make it firm. Its dress was made of unused elegant fabric and
on it were embroidered pink flowers and a small pocket on the lower right side.
It nose and ears were also properly embroidered and two black buttons were
sewed for its eyes. Its hairs were strips of black cloth tied in a pig’s tail,
just like what I’d usually prefer my hair done since Susie and Gino in Sustagen
was introduced. The doll may not be like that of those expensive ones in the
stores but somehow my grandmother made it in a way that the moment I set eyes
on it, an image of me surfaced. It was like I had a younger sister. Another
grandma’s touch of magic. She really took care of me. Love, indeed, lived within
the linings of those wrinkled hands.
