Not the Times of Yore

The rays of the sun kissed my cheeks and the hen’s cluck buzzed to wake me up. Time is telling me to get my back off the bed. I then went out the room to check what’s for the day. My mother is busy preparing our breakfast – fried rice and some scrambled eggs.  My sister is still asleep in our room so as my brother in the other room. My father is not there – even his shadow.

It’s 6:30 in the morning, a Sunday morning. This is a great time to start a whole day of relaxation after a week of sleepless nights, laborious projects, and hostile instructors. Thinking of the following week’s activities and more accountability makes me want to go back to bed again then sleep 24/7. But doing this for sure will give me the assurance to work three more times than the usual. Today is Sunday, the only rest day, so I must restrain myself from thinking draining toing and froing.

The T.V. programs are not yet that interesting for me so I sit near the window next to where my mother is cooking. I then look outside. A girl catches my attention. She looks pale. She is not playing with the other kids in the neighborhood. She is holding her ragged doll. I wonder why she is only standing next to the kids who are busy playing early in the morning.

A kid goes near the girl and invites her to play with them but she refuses. Another kid invites her but she refuses again. What’s wrong with her? This suddenly comes out my mind. I want to go to her but I can’t.

The kids in the neighborhood stopped playing then approach her. They are somewhat talking to her. I can see those in their mouths – moving slowly and taking some quick smiles. After a while, a boy offers her his hands and holds her. She squirms and neglects the boy’s attention. Her eyes are glowing hot. She is cussing the kids. I can clearly see it. She knows those kids are only pretending to care for her. The truth is they are parasites like lice in those abandoned dogs in their community.

The kids are slowly leaving her – one by one. She is alone again. What’s wrong with her? I ask myself for the second time. I want to speak with her. I want that ragged doll to be thrown away. I want her to smile even for a second. I want her to speak out. But I can’t do anything. The scene is crushing me. The girl is still holding the doll. Throw that doll away!  She can’t hear anything I say. I hope she would hear me saying those words soon.

The kids are going home one by one. The girl is left alone standing on the other side of the street. I know she is waiting for someone – someone who is a once part of her life. I know she wishes to bring back the times that have passed. I know her entreaty to change the past.

That girl on the other side of the street…nobody would understand her. Nobody took the chance to know her feelings, her inner thoughts. Nobody will because nobody has the courage to be au fait with her – even her dearly loved family.

I wish to hug her for a second to let her know that someone from her future has cared for her. I then take a last look at her and the ragged doll on her hands as she fades away.

My mom suddenly patted my shoulder and signaled that breakfast is ready. Before I could set myself for my morning meal, I went to my room then stood at the door. Memories played in my mind. This was the room where I used to play with my doll nine years ago.