Graveyard of Hopes

Big trucks with mucky loads are my morning and evening alarm clocks. Each time they passed by me, I am warned to back off. I couldn’t do anything but stand still and witness the aftermath.

Those trucks would then start to fall in line as if giant ants gathering food for the colony. If they could have been real ants, I would be bliss by now. Those trucks would recklessly throw out their loads as if it were too much of a burden.

Every day…those cold-hearted trucks are doing the same. It’s as if they don’t notice the mess they are putting up every time they throw out their loads here. How can those trucks carry the same large amount of loads every time they come over this place?

It’s getting worse. They’re throwing out too much – too much that I cried witnessing how sickening it have become here.

They’re creating a monster. A mount of monster. It’s getting taller – four times taller than I am now. It’s getting wider – too wide enough to turn into a grave of thousands of citizens. How can they let this happen?

Now, I am starting to believe that grandpa has deceived me when I was little. He used to tell me that living in this world is the nicest thing that would ever happened to our likes. But now, where is the cool flowing river that we used to root minerals? Where is the gentle fresh breeze of wind that used to sway our leaves? Where are the green grasses that were supposed to surround us with delight?

Even though I say that I’m getting use to this adverse scenery, it still hurts.

If only those trucks had only brought here the decomposable wastes in the beginning, I would have helped them. But, it’s too late now. This place is hopeless. Even if they’ll stop bringing here plastics and styros, even if they’ll shut this place down, the damage made will never be repaired.

Those ecological wastes that they are starting to feed in this place are useless. My roots will never be able to reach and grab them anymore.

This literary article is dedicated to Cebu City’s Inayawan dumpsite.