nerdberd
03-01-2011, 10:38 AM
On the outskirts of Cagayan Valley is where I stood. I was no older than seven years old. As I gazed out into the distance, I realized that my perspective of the small world that I lived in had completely changed. I have just discovered that my mother has passed onto the afterlife at the brink of dawn. The year was 1942, and the breeze that came from the river banks did not compensate for the unbearable heat that engulfed my village – or placate the reservoir of coldness and pain that was slowly brimming in the pit of my heart.
“Carmen, I give you my condolences on your mother’s passing” Every home that I passed by had a neighbor outside waiting to greet me with this kind of sympathy. I did not feel a single ounce of remorse in the tone of their voices, and they knew I was fully aware of it. My mother lived her life to a pitiful end. I knew her death was not natural nor was it an accident. She died because she was possessed by evil earth bound spirits by a Mankukulam (God of Sickness.) My intuition strongly sensed that it was all fixed.
Before my mother’s death, I lived a financially stable life with my father and her. My two older half-brothers were on their duty to serve our country. Our lives were simple and easy because my mother and father ran a monopolized business in our province. We were fortunate enough to own a ferry that transported civilians from our dock to the other islands and a store that supplied more than half of our hometown’s food. We lived a life of prosperity, and certain neighbors did not fancy that fact.
There was a woman who lived six houses away from my home. Her name was Ara Imanag. As I sat and ate a bountiful dinner with my parents, she was at her home brooding over the reality that she could only feed her children cold rice and salt. As heartbreaking as it sounded, that was the actuality of many of my neighbors’ lives.
Money was scarce for many of the common folk, and everyone knew my family would sleep with comfort at nightfall. At that time, I did not notice that the lives my childhood friends and their families lived were fated to become more difficult as months passed by. Their mothers’ and fathers’ hearts were corrupted with frustration and poisoned with envy. Some of the families believed equality was demanded. If one family among the other villagers lived a better life, then it would not be tolerated.
During the middle of the year, we had multiple accounts of someone robbing portions of our food supply. When chickens and cows started to disappear, my father finally called the police figure in our village to handle the situation. While the search was still ongoing, I’ve noticed that my mother would have random episodes when she would lay stationery on her bed.
A month later, my mother’s face grew very pale and she was vulnerable to sickness. During her sickest hour, she would cry out hysterically that someone has cursed her with a bad omen. She would lie in her bed with tears in her face as she stared at the ceiling. This became her new daily routine. My mother was in no condition to handle the business, and the robberies were an inconvenience. Unfortunately, my brothers were too far from home, our monthly income has lessened dramatically, and my mother’s state gradually grew worse.
My mother’s temperature went off the roof in just a short amount of time. Home remedies barely had an effect on her. It was time for my father to bring her to the Albularyo (Witch Doctor.) I was prohibited to follow my parents. It was inappropriate for children to be exposed to those kinds of practices at such a young age, although my father believed that denying me from the truth would only bring me pain. He was right, and I was grateful.
My father enlightened the witch doctor about my mother’s fever. He also mentioned how he felt as if my mother was going mentally ill with all her talks of bad omens controlling her body. When the doctor examined my mother, she was astonished. My mother was not lying about bad omens lurking inside her. A Mankukulam beard offerings to an Itim Dwuende (Black Dwarf – Cursers) as a request to torment my mother’s mind. An Itim Dwuende has the gift of lowering one’s immunity to illness, which strengthen the effect a Mankukulam’s power has to weaken people. She knew that discovering these details this late in the month was a misfortune. The Albularyo could smell the dark witchcraft, which was brewing my mother’s death.
The Albularyo knew she was in no power to cure my mother from her ailment, but she provided us with herbs and oil blessed by Berde Dwuende (Green Dwuende – The Keeper of Plants) to soothe my mother from her pain. This will not increase the duration of my mother’s life here on Earth, but she can at least sleep at ease.
My father and I do not know the whereabouts of the Mankukulam that cursed this heinous fate on my mother. We did, however, discover why her life had met such a calamity. Families, who were envious of my mother’s opulence had summoned the courage to pay a Mankukulam with an abundant amount food they had stolen from our provisions to bewitch her with misfortune and bad health. Little did they know that their hands will be forever stained with the blood of my mother.
I did not sit right by my mother’s side to wait and see her fall into an eternal slumber. I stood by the river bend on the outskirts of home and let the wind tickle my skin with its cooling sensation. It was, however, not enough compensate for the immense heat or alleviate the pain I was struggling to endure. My name is Carmen, Carmen Luzviminda Raytos. My father’s name is Abayari Raytos and my mother’s is Vivialyn Marian Raytos. It is the year 1942. I am no older than seven years old and motherless.
“Carmen, I give you my condolences on your mother’s passing” Every home that I passed by had a neighbor outside waiting to greet me with this kind of sympathy. I did not feel a single ounce of remorse in the tone of their voices, and they knew I was fully aware of it. My mother lived her life to a pitiful end. I knew her death was not natural nor was it an accident. She died because she was possessed by evil earth bound spirits by a Mankukulam (God of Sickness.) My intuition strongly sensed that it was all fixed.
Before my mother’s death, I lived a financially stable life with my father and her. My two older half-brothers were on their duty to serve our country. Our lives were simple and easy because my mother and father ran a monopolized business in our province. We were fortunate enough to own a ferry that transported civilians from our dock to the other islands and a store that supplied more than half of our hometown’s food. We lived a life of prosperity, and certain neighbors did not fancy that fact.
There was a woman who lived six houses away from my home. Her name was Ara Imanag. As I sat and ate a bountiful dinner with my parents, she was at her home brooding over the reality that she could only feed her children cold rice and salt. As heartbreaking as it sounded, that was the actuality of many of my neighbors’ lives.
Money was scarce for many of the common folk, and everyone knew my family would sleep with comfort at nightfall. At that time, I did not notice that the lives my childhood friends and their families lived were fated to become more difficult as months passed by. Their mothers’ and fathers’ hearts were corrupted with frustration and poisoned with envy. Some of the families believed equality was demanded. If one family among the other villagers lived a better life, then it would not be tolerated.
During the middle of the year, we had multiple accounts of someone robbing portions of our food supply. When chickens and cows started to disappear, my father finally called the police figure in our village to handle the situation. While the search was still ongoing, I’ve noticed that my mother would have random episodes when she would lay stationery on her bed.
A month later, my mother’s face grew very pale and she was vulnerable to sickness. During her sickest hour, she would cry out hysterically that someone has cursed her with a bad omen. She would lie in her bed with tears in her face as she stared at the ceiling. This became her new daily routine. My mother was in no condition to handle the business, and the robberies were an inconvenience. Unfortunately, my brothers were too far from home, our monthly income has lessened dramatically, and my mother’s state gradually grew worse.
My mother’s temperature went off the roof in just a short amount of time. Home remedies barely had an effect on her. It was time for my father to bring her to the Albularyo (Witch Doctor.) I was prohibited to follow my parents. It was inappropriate for children to be exposed to those kinds of practices at such a young age, although my father believed that denying me from the truth would only bring me pain. He was right, and I was grateful.
My father enlightened the witch doctor about my mother’s fever. He also mentioned how he felt as if my mother was going mentally ill with all her talks of bad omens controlling her body. When the doctor examined my mother, she was astonished. My mother was not lying about bad omens lurking inside her. A Mankukulam beard offerings to an Itim Dwuende (Black Dwarf – Cursers) as a request to torment my mother’s mind. An Itim Dwuende has the gift of lowering one’s immunity to illness, which strengthen the effect a Mankukulam’s power has to weaken people. She knew that discovering these details this late in the month was a misfortune. The Albularyo could smell the dark witchcraft, which was brewing my mother’s death.
The Albularyo knew she was in no power to cure my mother from her ailment, but she provided us with herbs and oil blessed by Berde Dwuende (Green Dwuende – The Keeper of Plants) to soothe my mother from her pain. This will not increase the duration of my mother’s life here on Earth, but she can at least sleep at ease.
My father and I do not know the whereabouts of the Mankukulam that cursed this heinous fate on my mother. We did, however, discover why her life had met such a calamity. Families, who were envious of my mother’s opulence had summoned the courage to pay a Mankukulam with an abundant amount food they had stolen from our provisions to bewitch her with misfortune and bad health. Little did they know that their hands will be forever stained with the blood of my mother.
I did not sit right by my mother’s side to wait and see her fall into an eternal slumber. I stood by the river bend on the outskirts of home and let the wind tickle my skin with its cooling sensation. It was, however, not enough compensate for the immense heat or alleviate the pain I was struggling to endure. My name is Carmen, Carmen Luzviminda Raytos. My father’s name is Abayari Raytos and my mother’s is Vivialyn Marian Raytos. It is the year 1942. I am no older than seven years old and motherless.