Chapter II: ELIANA

4:30 A.M.

         Reaching towards the clamoring alarm clock to snooze, I stretch my arms upward in a yawning manner. I stood and went near the window, staring at the dimly lit street with an echoing silence in its every corner. It is Monday, and we have to prepare for the whole-day chores waiting, and wake up my 17-year old daughter, Amina, to help me cook viands that serve as our daily small-scale business. 

        In the kitchen, a lizard rapidly puts out its tongue to catch the diminutive swirling buzz of flies. The ignited fire slowly lick and heat the pile of woods inserted inside the made-up cemented compartment where the concave metal container can sit upon the reigning ember, glowing wildly. Onions, garlic, and a string of vegetables are evenly cut into pieces before mama place them in the different recipes; some sautéed, and some simply drowned into the boiling water. Different meats like chicken, pork, and beef will be broiled, fried, and mixed with the other potential recipes that will for sure be palatably tempting to a hungry stomach. The pleasing aroma and the noise from the kitchen reaches the sleeping dogs that hurriedly dashed towards the door that is slightly open; sniffing and staining the soil with their dripping saliva, hoping to catch a remnant food waste. 

       “Uhm. Mudra, we have an overnight project with my classmates, and they are all girls.” Amina said, whilst washing the dishes. Wiping my itchy nose with the back of my hand caused by the puff of smoke from the fire, my brows arch together in disagreement. 

       “Amina, who will help me out in the early dawn to prepare all the cooking?” 

       “But we need to finish our group report so that we could submit them by Thursday afternoon.” she said as she dry her hands with the hanged colored towel. 

       “You are saying I have to do these on my own?” I asked in dismay. Amina placed her hand on my left arm and replied: “Do not worry, Mudra. I promise I won’t be staying out long. Perhaps I’ll be going home as soon as we finish this group report.”

      “Alright. But make sure you take good care of yourself. And, you better not entertain any suitors yet, Amina.” I replied, emphasizing that last remark. I don’t want my daughter to go through what I experienced 17 years ago. Sighing, I found myself recalling how I met Amina’s father when I was her at age. 

2001, Cebu City

Trigger warning: sexual abuse

         I was fifteen years old and was used to wake up at the crack of dawn to buy ingredients. I was told to buy Ashitaba leaves for my mother who was ailing a diabetic condition. I then found myself in Carbon, one of the busiest markets in the city where teeming noise of the crowd settled in my ears. The sharp stench of fish and raw meat intermingling with the smell of musty concrete overwhelmed my nostrils. I have been treading along the maze-like market for about half an hour now, inquiring some of the vendors where I could find the marketed herbal leaves in Carbon. I ambled in every corner, noticing an open hand extended in the air to ask for a single coin; a homeless teenager who looks about my age begging for alms while busily rocking gently with her other hand a seemingly four-month-old infant, boisterously crying. I felt dismay on my deepest thoughts upon looking at the teen mother and whispered in the universe that I would never end up like her. Perhaps, it was disobedience to her parents that led this girl to this state, or perhaps she is just destined to be in this destitution. 

            On the left corner, I noticed children with ballooning plastics pressed on their nostrils, smelling addictive rugby with their eyes steady and looking seemingly empty. Street dogs, flies, rotten exhale of the air along with rubbish stained soda cans, burger wrappers, barbecue sticks feasted by flies, and a rotten cadaver of a cat mercilessly thrown in the corner filled my spirit with disgust as I covered my nose with the back of my arm. In the dilapidated makeshift wooden cart were a family of four, sleeping in a parallel position with their arms and legs on top of one another. They seem to not care if they get infected with a virus or infectious diseases, or even being kidnapped or raped by perverts. These conditions somewhat welcomed my innocent eyes, even when I was at my tender age with my mother when we used to pass by this market together. But now, I had to do this on my own while my mother was busy preparing in our house.

        I start to fill my plastic basket with the necessary ingredients for cooking; another errand I was supposed to do. I scrutinized the fish’s freshness by looking at their eyes if there are no tinge of blurry stain on them.

        “How much is the kilo for this, kuya?” I asked to the guy who was chopping the slab of a chicken’s meat. There was in the eyes of the young man, perhaps around the age of eighteen, some kind of connection that silenced the humdrum noise of the surrounding of the market. Everything seemed to transition into a slow motion, with his unclothed muscled body and his biceps looking chiseled by the years of labor selling meat and fish. I shook my head as I tried to ignore and swat off the illusion of this manly display of fantasy. 

      “40 per kilo, ate. Still fresh,” said the young man while placing down the blood-stained dagger on the wet table made of white tiles, with a voice so deep and modulated.

       “I’ll get three kilos of that, then.” I responded while shelling out a five hundred pesos from my purse. “How much do I have to pay?”

      Extending his hands to claw all the portion of fish I ordered and placing them inside the rounded metal container where they would be weighed, the fish vendor answered, “120 pesos only, miga.” 

      I handed the money whilst trying to steal a glimpse of the young chiseled vendor busying himself with transferring the raw fish I ordered to a plastic cellophane. He caught my eyes as he was handing my purchase of fish whilst taking the money from my hand, and it seemed that he noticed the intrigue in my eyes; since I noticed how his lips formed a playful grin as tried and look away. Shrugging off the sheepish atmosphere, I decided to inquire about the main errand I’m supposed to be here for.

      “Kuya, do you know where I can buy Ashitaba leaves around here?”

      “Ashitaba, eh? It’s probably around the vegetable aisle. You can just go straight ahead and turn right on the first corner,” he replied while extending his arms to the direction he was referring to. I said a quick and bashful thank you before striding towards the direction the young vendor ushered.

      After wandering around that corner of the Carbon market, I eventually found a vendor selling various herbs on a small wagon; hovering above the marketed herbs, crisp and herbaceous aroma overwhelmed my senses. The vendor introduced different herbs that he was selling such as Lagundi, Oregano, and Asthma weed alongside the Ashitaba leaves that I have been trying to find for about an hour now. Stuffing the purchased herb carefully into another plastic cellophane, I trudged back towards the path I took before I got at that area while bolstering the different purchases I had throughout my trip to the Carbon market. I had to stop halfway to check whether or not I missed any goods that I was supposed to buy for this errand when a familiar frame appeared in front of me and interrupted my busying from the goods I bought. Turned out it was the young vendor who taught me where to find the herbal leaf I was looking for.

      “I see that you found the Ashitaba leaves you were looking for,” he piped; his lips formed a smug grin. He was wearing a black shirt now unlike his topless situation on our prior encounter. Although he was already wearing a shirt, it seemed too small for his physique seeing that the cloth apparently hug his shoulders quite tightly while accentuating the outlines of his chest muscles. 

      Are you seriously checking him out? Snap off of it! I shook my head to brush off the lingering thoughts in it.  

      “Uh, yeah I did- although it took a while for me to find it.” I replied, nodding as I look at him.

      “I should have accompanied you then. I did kind of felt bad letting a confused, pretty girl wander off like that.” 

      I felt heat rush off my cheeks from his remark, and all I could muster was an awkward chuckle. He must have figured that he won’t be getting any response from me when he fished the plastic cellophanes containing everything I bought today off my hands and stood beside me. 

      “Where do you live? I should at least help you bring your stuff and walk you home. Y’ know, to at least appease my conscience?” He grinned and chuckled. 

      I could use some company on the way home. It seemed too late for me to say no either way. What could possibly go wrong? 

      I looked at him hesitantly and replied with a nod. “It’s just in Barangay Labangon. Quite nearby so you don’t really need to walk me home-” 

     “No no, I insist.” He looked over at me still with his smug grim.

      So there we were, ambling on our way to Barangay Labangon. It was quite close to the Carbon market so there was no need for us to ride a jeepney. During our trip home, I learned that his name was Abdul and that he actually lived around Brgy. Labangon too. It’s a crowded neighborhood so I probably wouldn’t know either way. He said that he has been helping out his uncle in selling meat and fish in the Carbon market with his brother, and that he’s a Muslim. 

      The entire trip home was friendly and I eventually felt comfortable with him, with a few laughs and gentle shoves amidst playful conversations- which of course earned him a welcome in our home. Mama, Papa, and my little sister wasn’t around so I figured they went together to the city to get Mama’s insulin shot. 

      “Come in. You can just put those on the table in the kitchen-.” I ushered Abdul in, which was probably pointless because when I turned towards his direction, he was already lounged on the worn out couch in our living room, with todays’ purchases sprangled on the old coffee table my mama got from a yard sale a few months back. He looked over me with his usual pompous face, and I noticed his eyes trail down to my chest. It was then that I realized that my shirt was damp with my sweat, and the thin fabric of my white tee shirt was clinging on my skin, making my chest exposed through the damp cloth of my top. Heat instantly rushed to my face; it was such a humid day and the hike from the market explain this much. 

     “I should go change to some fresh clothes first. Uhm . . . you can turn on the TV if you want. The remote control is right there in the coffee table.”

     “Alright. Go ahead then, don’t worry about me,” he replied with a nod before he leaned over and rested his elbows on both leg, grinning. 

      I turned and ambled towards the door to my room which was just adjacent to the couch where Abdul was sitting, and I could feel his eyes following me as I did. Closing the door behind me, I immediately went to the green plastic wardrobe cabinet beside the door and across the double-deck bed my sister and I share. I crouched down to pull open the bottom drawer where my house clothes were in and heard the television go on with a sound of an afternoon teleserye soundtrack, somehow putting me at ease with which I didn’t understand why. I rummaged through my clothes and pulled out a turquoise crew neck t-shirt, stood up and placed it on top of the cabinet and slipped off my damp t-shirt. Well, that was uncomfortable, I thought, while recalling back on the scenario that took place in the living room just a while ago as I wipe off the sweat from my armpits with the same shirt I just took off. 

    As I stood just in front of the cabinet, the door flew open and I whipped my head to see Abdul now inside my small room, closing the door behind him while his dark eyes fixate on me. I aimlessly covered my body with my arms out of reflex and the damp shirt was .crumpled by my grip. “Abdul, what are you doing he-“

     My sentence was cut short as he loomed closer, his face still bore that smug expression but his eyes seemed darker now and his jaw clenched beneath the smirk that formed in his lips. Panic rose inside my guts but I stood there not able to move albeit the obvious harm that was prevalent in the situation I was in. My whole body went numb. I couldn’t move. The only thing that was working in me in that moment was probably my shaking eyes; I don’t think I was even breathing. He reached and ran his fingers on the strands of my hair, like an intimate gesture; but it definitely made me feel otherwise. I looked at him, my eyes screaming confusion and fear. Before I could withdraw my mind back to process the situation, the hand that trailed down my hair was now nestled on the back of my neck through which he roughly pulled towards his face, crashing his lips aggressively on mine. His insistent mouth tried to part my lips and he pressed his mouth so hard that I could feel his front teeth grazing the skin above my lips. Without realizing it, his body was already on top of mine; his hands roughly exploring my bare bosom and squeezing them aimlessly. 

     “P-please, stop- Abdul . . . please stop this,” I whimpered; finally able to fish out the voice inside my throat while my arms stiffen on top of my breasts; my bra disheveled above it. He then grabbed both my wrists, shushing me with his face dangerously close to mine and his eyes screaming lust. “It’s okay, just relax. Trust me,” he whispered, as if consoling me. “No, please don’t—“. He leaned back and fumbled with the zipper of his denim capri shorts while his other hand pressed on both my wrists that are now locked above my chest just above one another, placing a great amount of weight on it to hold me down, thus cutting off my plea as the weight on my chest left me unable to breathe. He managed to pull down his shorts with one hand and proceeded to work his fingers on mine, pulling both my pants and my panties off without flaw. 

     I felt the rush of helplessness yet again, the sinking feeling of yield and numbness as his free hand pulled on my hips, slipped his manhood between my thighs and inside me, emanating a sharp, searing pain in every thrusts he made. I was numb. Helpless. He was grunting with pleasure on my ear in every plunge and tears rolled down through my temple, escaping from my lifeless eyes that was staring on the dusty ceiling fan. I blanked off then; I didn’t know how and when he left but at some point then, I found myself sprawled on my bed, my eyes still staring blankly on the ceiling, fingers gripping the damp white shirt that I have been clenching on for dear life as if it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from falling to that agonizing cliff. Unfortunately, I did fall from the cliff; and a part of me definitely died.

    The week that followed was just as agonizing. My eyes have turned hallow and bloodshot. I would barely cope enough through the day but then the night would come again and it was a lot more tormenting: the deafening silence of the night and the familiar ceiling fan dangling above my bed just drags me back to the traumatizing pit I fell from. It would keep me awake for all the nights that followed, and when sleep would come, it revisits me still, in the form of dreams—no, nightmares. Horrific and tormenting nightmares where I’d jolt back awake and find myself catching my breath and face damp with tears. 

    And as though the severe mental distress I’ve been battling day by day was not enough, I was faced with another stammering encounter because of my careless laundry toss. 

   My sister was washing the dishes and my mama and I were about to do laundry together. 

   “Ay nak, I think your papa bought a new fabric softener last week. Go and take a look under the sink,” Mama said. I stood up and turned towards the sink where my sister was washing the dishes. I crouched down beside her and looked over the different stocked stuff like fixtures, hammer and nails- My sister jabbed me with her leg playfully and I shoved back before I heard Mama call my name. I whipped my head towards her direction.

    “Yes, ma?” I replied.

    “Come here.” 

     I quickly turned my head back to find the product, still crouched down. A can of pesticide spray, dishwashing liquid, and . . . oh there it was, a fabric softener. 

    “Eliana!!” my mama called again, this time with a raised and hasty voice. I quickly reached to get the fabric softener where I found it and rushed back outside. The dirty laundry was now in three neat piles of white fabric, bottom wears, and colored fabrics, and I noticed mama was just standing there, holding my used bedsheet. It was then I noticed the stain on the sheet’s fabric: a dark and rusty shade of red. My eyes shifted towards my mother’s face, hinting either anger or concern or probably a mix of both. 

    “Eliana, tell me the truth. Have you been doing something immoral that we didn’t know?”

    A momentary surge of panic came through me then. Think, Eliana. Think! My eyes loom around, as if I’d find an excuse somewhere in our dirty laundry. 

    “Ma, it must be from my menstruation blood and I didn’t notice.” 

    “Oh My! Your period comes every end of the week. I know because I buy YOUR napkins, Eliana!”

     My fingers start playing with the hem of my shirt, searching for a way out of this confrontation. I looked over my sister and she was outside now, holding a platito that was covered with bubbles. 

   “I swear, ma. I think it might have been stained from last month and I just didn’t notice it.” I replied, my voice evidently shaking. But Mama might not have noticed it as I caught her raised brows that casted doubt shift a bit, probably considering my remark. 

   “Ah, that’s very plausible, Mang. Ate Eliana is such a dirty and sloppy roommate; I’m not even surprised.” My sister chimed in, with an unamused expression on her face before turning and going back to her dishes. It seemed genuine and didn’t look like she said that to help me out. Whew. I looked over my mama. She looked back at me with a piercing gaze.

   “If I catch either of you two in any obscene situation, I swear I’m going to kick you out of this house. Lewd bitches are not welcome in this household”, she said grumbling as she walked over to turn the faucet on and resume the laundry we were supposed to do. 

    And right then, I was unsure what to feel; am I supposed to feel relieved or frightened? 

    God in heaven, have your forsaken me? Why am I in this kind of misery?