My dearest son,
Tomorrow, you’re off to Manila and I’m terrified. I took care of you when you were inside of me, when you were born into this world, and when you grew up to be a handsome young man. I will continue to care for you until I die, that I know for sure. That’s why it scared me when you told me you want to study in Manila. I wanted to stop you from going, lock you in your room, if I have to. But I can’t do that. I’m not that person, much less, that mother. All I can do is support you. I know your mind is already made up, and I know there’s no force in the world that could stop you from boarding that bus. You are your Tatang’s child, after all. But if there’s a slight doubt in your heart, a hesitation, a thought, listen to it. The city is no longer the same as before.
But if you really have to go, take in everything I’d have to say in this letter. Let me guide you and take care of you, even when we’re worlds apart.
The most important thing is to keep the essentials close to your body. If you can sew it on your skin, do so. Keep your main wallet deep into your backpack. Put your other wallet on a shallower pocket. Bring your thickest jacket for the cold, your sturdiest umbrella for the rain. Bring your old baseball cap for the sun and your cheap sunglasses, too. Charge your powerbank full and keep your coiled charger wire on the same pocket as you keep your earphones. Bring your plastic water canteen. The heavier the bag you carry, the better. And always keep your bag latched on your chest, not on your back. Pull it close to you and wrap your arms around it all the time. Duwendes swarm the canals and they are swift knives. They can slice open your bags and catch your belongings before you can even react. So be wary when you hear out of place, soft snickers. Duwendes are probably just around the corner.
Don't talk to strangers, or even look. Decline whatever they’re offering politely, but don't look into their eyes. On public restrooms, avert your eyes on the people who are also using the mirror. Look at your own reflection or look at the sink. These men of Kasamaan would only need to see your eyes for them to steal your face, your identity, and your soul. Walk quickly, but not too much. Always walk as if you're running late to an appointment, but would still like to look calm and collected. Wash your hands and whisk it gently over the sink. And then leave. Don't let these men pay you attention. Don't let them pursue you.
Know your itineraries by heart, or at least act like you know it by heart. Memorize the stops and the signboards. Take note of the landmarks. Do not show hesitation on going up a road or walking down a street. If you show the least bit of panic from feeling lost and unfamiliar with the place you're in, the Tikbalangs are sure to make you their toy. They are always lurking and looking for people to play with. They will notice if you're panicking and don't know which turn to make. They will notice your hesitation. And when they do, they will just worsen things. They will extend roads and add extra twists and turns. They can implant hallucinations in your head, if you’re not careful. If found in this unfortunate situation, look for a secret spot and wear your shirt inside out. And when you finally find the familiar landmark, walk backwards towards it and you'll find your place again.
Learn how to listen to the subtlest sounds and changes in the wind. When you have to take the metro rail at night, listen carefully. Sometimes, that's not the whistle of the upcoming train. It's the flap of wings. If you’re not careful, you’d find yourself looking up at a mess of floating entrails. And next thing you know, a long tongue has already snatched your neck and choked away. When the train arrives and the sound is still there, push people inside the train if you have to. These Manananggals live atop train stations and always hunt at night. They will devour your heart, your liver, and your brain. If you're unable to ride the train quickly, go down to the ticketing station and let them fly by. Don’t make any sound and listen until the flaps sound louder. That’s when you know they’re far. Let them run down the railway and pursue the train. Wait for another one to come and make sure this time, you'll be aboard.
Always stay inside your house when the night comes. But if you have to go out in the dark, do not look at the passers-by. Chances are you'd find yourself face-to-face with the Aswangs. They crowd the streets and are usually covered by the dark. They don't like the sunlight, because then you'd be able to see how their bodies are completely translucent. At night, their faces glow. They can transform themselves to the most beautiful, ethereal beings. But they can eat you whole. Their teeth are ragged pieces of broken glass and when they completely unlock their jaw, you can see the dark void beyond. It will be the last thing you'll see.
When you move in a boarding house, know your neighbors. Ask for their names and remember their faces. Make friends and acquaintances, if needed. Take note of their living quarters and their lives. Ask them about themselves. Do they have a family with them? Are they living by themselves? Do they have kids? It’s important to know whether they are with child. Because if you’re absolutely sure that no one in your place has a kid to begin with and you begin hearing loud cries at night, do not open your door to check. Let it cry. Do not give the Tiyanak a bit of your attention. It’s what they do; they lure you out of the comfort of your home, play with your empathy. And when you’re close enough, their toothless gums will make way for sharp fangs that can rip your throat open. Like most infants, Tiyanaks wail when they’re hungry, but in this case, they’re hungry for some human meat.
I think it would be better for you to quit smoking. Don’t go cold turkey, but just try to quit. But if you can’t, always bring along a friend to the smoking area. Do not smoke by yourself, because chances are you won’t even be alone at the open-aired balcony. Kapres populate these areas and are usually fond of idly sitting in the farthest corner, enveloped by the dark. While they are usually harmless creatures, once a Kapre grew a liking of your company, you can no longer leave. The smoke from their huge cigars can play with your mind and your vision. The exit will be gone; the building, vanished. You’ll only have him and he’ll have you for eternity.
My son, in closing, let me ask you one more time: stay. Don't take that bus. Don't leave. Stay here in comfort, under our protection. Only us can protect you from these beings. You can stay here and live old. Choose this, choose here. Choose home. Manila is a huge, strange, and terrifying place to be.
I hope you will decide to stay. But if you still choose to go, be careful out there.
Loving you always,
Inay
0 Comments