Though it was past midnight, the day was prolonged with fireworks and city lights. Parols, little lanterns shaped like stars, adorned the shoddy wiring that kept the commune of San Miguel alive. It was Christmas, and in the Catholic-dominant Philippines, millions flocked to the cathedrals, an onerous gift from Magellan. Come next morning, there would be a mass at every church in the country, though Vincent had no intention of going. In fact, he was far, far away from the present, secluded on a rooftop, staring at a starless sky. His phone had died, and it was futile to try and get some sleep, as the relentless fervour of both worship and celebration conquered all. Children were giving blessings to their elders, karaoke was sung at every household, and he spotted a few of his cousins playing basketball with a dinky hoop while wearing fake jerseys. Their trash-talk intrigued him. The light beckoned to him. The sweet scent of bibingka and baked cassava called to him. The clangour of laughter from his drunk and happy titos and titas urged him to move, especially after he had heard that some Jollibee chicken had arrived. And yet, Vincent lingered on the outskirts like a carcass. It was fitting, as he was a diaspora who could not speak a word of Filipino, and was only here to visit family. Later on, boredom draped over his mind. He could not tell whether it was Kuya Cocoy or Kuya Martin singing a terrible cover of Feliz Navidad, and eventually, the endless noise drove him out. Vincent slipped away down some stairs and jumped two walls, and he wound through the narrow alleys slicked with damp, muddy ground, littered with the joyful trash of yesterday. He went further and descended from familiar landmarks. Festivities dwindled, their light no longer blinking through the tin roofs that once made a patchwork of gleaming hues. There were no more decorations, not a single hint that it was Christmas. His eyes traced the rust of corrugated iron walls. Roadside canals stunk of greywater. The sounds of merriment, once commanding, now ebbed and disappeared. Around him, his surroundings slowly bled into slums. The raw underbelly of the city was exposed. Music dissolved into murmurs, and life and colour waned away. It was as if his own disquiet was mirrored in this void. It drew him in deeper, his mindless wandering unrelenting. Then, he noticed something.
It was warm. It always surprised him how it never got cold here on this archipelago. In the distance, he spotted a figure, illuminated by a single streetlamp. She was quite tall for a Filipino. Vincent recognized her. It was one of his cousins, around his age, maybe a little older. Her knuckles rapped against a shanty window. She spotted him, her gaze a dark, curious shine. Leaning against the remnants of an old wall, her face was soft but also hardened with a cool indifference that seemed to recognize the stranger approaching. In her hand, a thin, hand-rolled cigarette smouldered, emitting ribbons of smoke that twisted and flowed. She took a quick puff.
“Naliligaw ka ba?” she asked. Her voice was low and bemused, punctuated by the faintest curl of a smile.
“I– I don’t speak Tagalog,” he said, not a single word tinged by an accent. “Vincent Rizal, you?”
She chuckled. “You don’t remember your Ate? Ate Sofia?” He shrugged, averting his gaze. Vincent always felt like a trespasser, unable to relate, but then, he looked up and met her eyes.
Sofia took a drag, her lips grazing the paper’s edge with a practiced ease. Afterwards, she extended her arm and offered it. For a moment, he hesitated, the smoke swirling in a thin, ephemeral veil. But then, he took it, pressing the filter against his mouth, tasting the ash and heat. Old and acrid fumes akin to the essence of his surroundings were distilled into his very marrow, and the smoke scratched its way down his throat. It was sharp and unkind, and he coughed hard after, but Sofia’s rough laugh cut through his discomfort. It mingled with the howling cheers from distant streets above them. She wiped away a tear borne from her laughter and smiled.
“Let’s go home.”
Photograph by Ryan Guerville
Article by Jasper Jose