Entropy

I was told that the best way to scare off wakwak is to tell her her mother’s hair is on fire. My grandfather used to tell us stories about how, when he was a teenager, he would walk home at night for hours, crossing rivers, forests, rolling hills and open fields. Creatures like wakwak, then, were nothing extraordinary, but more of something to be prepared for like the occasional rains in summer. Everybody was expected to know what to do when faced with a monster with very long hair that goes through the victim’s nose and ears and eat his flesh from inside out. My grandfather was only a bit uncomfortable with the possibility. He was not scared. He knew he only had to yell the witch’s mother’s sad plight and whether true or not, she’d scramble home to save the mom.

I remember this story while inspecting the neighborhood I have just moved into. (The moves have been countless, since I left home for university.) It has a nice sunset. Nothing spectacular like the little prince’s but, later afternoons glow like rice fields, plus the wind reminds me of home. And in this particular instance, I remember the wooden ladder at my grandparents’ place. It leads to the living area where a huge window looks over thefront yard filled with grasses, daisies, and vegetables. I especially loved the Talisay tree where roosters and hens perched on for the night.

At the window is a bench, where my grandfather would tell me stories about his youth with the river and the mayas like background music. I must have been no older than four or three. Everything he said- it made growing up a destination I could not wait getting to, and it was filled with roadside dust. Until now, when I remember those afternoons, the dust still has not settled. Though this time, I see Robin’s falling hair, too.

A lot has changed. That house is gone after my grandparents left for the seaside, where there was electricity. They had always wanted to put up light bulbs to weather the night, and to stay away from both rebels and the military. But, once in a while, I get there when the wind brings the familiar scent in the afternoon. I have enjoyed the walks my grandfather has told me about years ago, and I am glad I haven't had to tell a monster about her burning mother.