The Something Special

By: Mikejuha
email: getmybox@hotmail.com
fb: getmybox@yahoo.com

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For an OFW, a homecoming is a grand opportunity for reunion, for celebration, and for making up for the lost time with loved ones. It is one of the happiest moments for the family. 

My last vacation wasn’t supposed to be that really different; except that it turned out to be a little unexpected. It was my first Christmas in six years with family since I worked overseas. Aside from that, I was looking forward to many exciting occasions. But the most sought-after celebration each member of my family eagerly looked forward was our very own reunion. Everyone was so excited. 

Two months prior to my scheduled vacation, I already got everything ready – from my schedule of activities to the presents for each member of my family. I mean, except for the present of one person: my father. I promised myself to give him something special in that homecoming. I thought it must be something useful, important, unique, and… expensive. But at that time, I couldn’t think yet of anything that would match my criteria of a “something special” for him.

The other year, I gave him a TV set. I personally chose such item because of his fondness for movies. There were two movie-related incidents which I could not forget about my father. First, when he brought me to the theater. I was only about five or six years old then. It was my baptism of fire with movies. Unfortunately, it happened to be a horror movie. I remembered how I hid frantically under the chair every time Dracula would appear on the screen, and how I pleaded with him that we go home. It was disastrous. I could not sleep the whole night after that. All I could see and hear were the face of Dracula and the loud voice of mother giving a very long “Dracula-sermon” to father. 

But it didn’t end there. The following week, father again brought me to a movie. It was not anymore Dracula but a thriller movie. I saw blood and mutilated bodies, lots of them. Again in the evening, I could not sleep because I imagined the corpses plus the loud “thriller-sermon” of mother in the middle of the night. I then developed a phobia on movies. I thought that all movies were terrifying.

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Moonlight

By: Jayson Patalinghug

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I remember the weight first.

It pinned my hand to the mattress, heavy and cold as stone. My body would not obey me; every breath I took felt stolen, as if invisible fingers were pressing against my lungs. My mind, however, was fully awake—painfully awake.

From beyond my room, I heard the sounds of chaos: the sharp shatter of plates, the piercing cries of someone breaking apart, the furious pounding of fists against doors. Walls trembled. Shadows roared.

I fought to open my eyes, to move even a finger, but the unseen weight grew heavier, as though an iron hand was holding me down. Panic welled up, and I whispered hoarsely, my words tripping over one another:

“Please… let me go.”

Nothing.

Then I remembered Him.

“I rebuke you, demon,” I gasped, “in the name of Jesus—my Lord, my Savior—leave me!”

The words cracked in the silence. And just like that—the force loosened its grip. My eyes flew open. I lay drenched in sweat, my chest heaving, my throat parched as though I had been drowning in a dream.

I stumbled out of bed, my legs trembling. The hallway stretched before me, dim and hollow. The front door hung open, swaying slightly, as if someone had just stepped out. I glanced at the clock—3:00 a.m. The hour when night feels older than death.

The moonlight spilled through the cracked window, silvering the veranda. It was strangely beautiful, almost tender, softening the brokenness around me. For a moment, it soothed me. Perhaps, I thought, the moon is God’s lantern, reminding me not all darkness is merciless.

But then—

Huhuhu…

A cry. Soft, mournful, and distant, yet so near it seemed to seep into my very bones.

I froze. My breath hitched. The sound grew clearer as I stepped through the sala, where only the pale glow of the moon lit my way. I reached for the switch but stumbled over something unseen.

That’s when I saw her.

She sat at the dining table, shoulders trembling, her head buried in her arms. Long strands of hair veiled her face. A white gown clung to her figure and shimmered faintly in the moonlight, as though it had been stitched from the light itself.

“Who… who are you?” I whispered, though my throat felt sealed shut.

Her sobbing slowed. She lifted her head just enough for her voice to escape, fragile and broken:

“Why did he leave us?”

The sound pierced me. My knees weakened. My sweat ran like rain down my face.

She stood then, slowly, her gown trailing like mist. Step by step, she moved toward me. My body screamed to run, but I could not. She knelt in front of me, her face finally revealed.

Her eyes—oh God, her eyes—were oceans of grief. They pulled me in, drowning me in her sorrow.

“My son,” she whispered, “your father has left us. He broke me when he went to her last night.”

Her words struck like lightning, illuminating everything I feared but dared not name. Tears blurred my sight.

“Mother?” I choked out, though I was not sure if it was truly her or a specter conjured by the moonlight.

She touched my cheek, her fingers cold but tender.

“Be strong,” she said, her voice trembling. “You must be strong, even when the world falls apart.”

And then—she was gone. The room stood empty, the moonlight cold and silent once more.

I remained there, tears dripping freely, unsure if I had dreamed her into being or if the moon itself had given her back to me for just one fleeting moment.

 

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Isang Pagsasalaysay ng Karanasan

Ang sulat sa ibaba ni Marlon Alves ay isang malayang uri ng pagsulat ng isang tulang pasalaysay. Hindi ito saklaw ng kumbinsyunal na pamamaraan ng pagsulat ng tula. Dito mas binibigyan ng halaga ang nilalaman kesa straktura ng isang sulatin.


Marlon, salamat sa ibinahagi mong ito. Kasama mo kami sa pagbuo ng makabagong anyo ng literatura. :)
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Dinala ako ng aking mga paa sa di malamang dahilan 402 talaga ang aking kinabibilangan.
sa mundong aking pinasukan ay di pa batid kung paano sisimulan , makibahagi sa mga taong bago sa aking harapan .
Sa mga araw na nagdaan ay may gumuhit na ngiti sa aking kinabukasan, Mga araw na dumaan sa aking alaala ay di malilimutan.
Ang saya na sa kanilay naramdaman , bahagi na lamang ng mga ala alang aking binabalikan.
Ang mga tropa at kaibigang nagpadama sa akin ng buhay na dapat pahalagahan.
Sa mga aral at leksyong aming napagsaluhan, namayani ang pinakamahusay sa bawat larangan.
Sa bawat salitang binitiwan, simpleng banatan at biruan, doon nag sisimula ang pikonan at tampuhan.
Ang mga di paawat na kalokohan nang mga tropang sa likod ang pinagmulan, unti unti ko na lamang nagunita ng hindi ko namamalayan.

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