(I was also inspired by aiza and elaine's memory stories.)
I was fourteen. The world made so much sense yet no sense at all. I lived in a bubble. A bubble that burst once my eyes met a pair that changed my life from thereon. There is a world outside mine. And it’s not so simple.
It was hot, humid, and overcast. The stickiness of the air clung to my skin as the sweat slowly surfaced. I was at “home,” I was told. This was home.
I looked out through the window of our car and saw a multitude of cars bustling through the narrow streets. Cars forming their own lanes, honking, and irritated drivers consumed the roads. Coke ads lined the tips of the roofs of the little stores that laid along the streets. Jollibee was across from McDonalds. And what seemed to be little huts enveloped these well-known establishments. People were crammed into these little huts. Huge billboards shot out from these little huts and featured women resembling an all too familiar image. They looked nothing like me. They were beautiful.
It was an overwhelming feeling.
Tons of people were walking through the streets in what seemed to be aimless wandering. The car was still stopped amidst the heavy traffic and everyone was growing more irritated. It felt cold. Empty. Dissatisfied.
Amidst the chaos, was a pair of eyes. Deep eyes, much like my own, but spoke more true words than any human being could actually verbalize. More true words than I could say or write. These words, which gazed back into my own, were desperate. But I could not get a full grasp of those words, as the window stood between us. And what reflected back at me was just a boy wearing only shorts and tsinelas, standing there with his face and hands propped up against the window. Desperate to sell the necklace he was holding. This little boys eyes spoke truth. I wanted to break through the window that separated us and listen to those words. But the window remained intact.
My aunt sees me looking at the boy, distraught.
“Oh don’t mind that boy, anak, he is just working for the drug dealers.”
“kawawa naman,” coos my mom.
“oo naman, I wish there was something we could do to help, but there’s nothing.”
And the car drives on, but through the rear view mirror, I stare at the boy. The image of his eyes never leave me. I will not let them die in vain. There is not nothing. There is only everything. I will break that window, and only then will I see beauty.
the first thing i like about this piece is the title, referring on one level to the car window, the bubble of innocence or lack of awareness that the narrator mentions, and maybe even the country itself-- what about this country is so broken that the boy on the street outside has to sell necklaces to live? in "I was at 'home,' I was told. This was home," i like how it's not clear whether the narrator does or doesn't believe this. i like the inclusion of the conversation between the aunt and the mom. the aunt's words really drive home the whole idea of the window staying up, and the people who have the means to help purposely ignoring the people they can see right outside their window.
ReplyDelete"lived in a bubble" - a very definite image, and echoes the window, the separation from the Outside. I suggest you have a reading after adding before this section a similar incident in the States, a layering to Awareness, an adult response -- what now is your POV, from this current Inside or current Outside?
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