At the heart of the rural towns of Siquijor, we lived. Among the quietness of the forest's outskirts, my Ungay and I existed in tranquil silence. Away from the noise and temptations of the city, far from prying eyes of town folk who grew wearier of us, each passing year we continued to cultivate our tiny patch of mystical land. But I know the words they whisper as we pass by the dreary streets. "Mangkukulam" "Balbal" "Wakwak" "Aswang" They'd hide their babies and cover the pregnant ones black. They avoided our gaze, scramble away, and part like the sea, afraid of a hex they believed we'd give to anyone willingly. I used to cry, the first time I witnessed this spectacle. Aged five, my mother had just left me. More like disposed, if you think about it. On the doorsteps of that cold and earie house by the forest. To my ever quite Ungay. But Ungay doesn't walk the streets of the suspicious with me anymore. She has grown weak over the past couple of months. She just quietly passes the hours by the window nowadays. Maybe reminiscing her life, maybe remembering the times she once laughed, or loved. I could never tell, after all, it wasn't her nature to share. Or maybe she's sensing a stirring in town. Over her. Over us. Because I could feel it too, the hushed tones of relief the town folk exhales collectively. "Mamatay na sa wakas ang mangkukulam." Then with a foreboding look, they'd look at me and sigh. "Sayang lang at mayroon siyang mapagiiwanan." They dread over me becoming the next witch. They don't even spare a sorry stare. Ungay was dying and I'll be all alone. It seemed no one remembered I was still human with a heart all along. Then came Gael... and they dreaded some more. "Tiyak kinulam 'yun, ginayuma, nilinlang." "Sino ba naman ang magmamahal kay Ibyang, na may lahing aswang." "Hindi 'din kasi nakikinig kahit binalaan ko na." "Tiyak 'yun talaga gayuma!"
4 parts