I GLANCED at his grave.
Robin Alminario
Born: June 13, 1997
Died: August 10, 2007
My brows furrowed. This was the first time I had ever felt this way. Seeing him again somehow stirred something in my heart. I don’t know. I couldn’t understand what I was feeling. This was new.
A question suddenly surfaced in my mind. We came here every year, yet it was only now that I noticed it—only now that I realized it. I didn’t know why.
“Pa, why is Kuya buried here in Laguna?” No matter how far away we lived, whenever this day came, we would travel for hours just to visit him.
Neither of them answered.
“And… what did Kuya die from?” I added.
Dad looked at me. I couldn’t understand the meaning behind his gaze—it was a mixture of shock and resentment. Mom stood up and faced me as well. I really couldn’t understand the looks they were giving me. Had I said something wrong? Did I offend them? Was this one of those forbidden questions I shouldn’t ask Mom so she wouldn’t cry?
There’s nothing wrong with asking about something I don’t know, right? So why did they seem afraid to answer me? Was there something they didn’t want to remember? Something they didn’t want to go back to?
This was so uncommon. They were never like this with me. Usually, they laughed at the things I said or smiled at them—but why now?
I don’t know. No matter how much I searched my mind, I couldn’t remember how Kuya died. I couldn’t remember what caused him to disappear from our lives.
With the worried looks my parents kept throwing at me, more questions started forming in my head. I wanted answers. I wanted to know what they were hiding from me—if they were hiding anything at all. Maybe there was something they never told me.
It was also strange that I couldn’t remember much from when I was little.
But it seemed they really had no intention of answering my question. That only made me think even more.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Ma… Pa… how did Kuya die? I’m asking you.”
I looked straight into their eyes, sincere and eager for an answer. It seemed like this was a million-dollar question to them.
“August 10, 2007… the day he died. The same date as today… What happened on this day ten years ago? Was there something else aside from Kuya’s death? How did he die?”
But still, they didn’t bother answering me. They just kept staring at me. As if they thought their silence alone could answer my questions. It was the first time I had ever felt irritated with them.
They were even worse than the mute girl I met earlier. They had voices, but they weren’t using them! How hard was it for them to answer?
That only made me more suspicious that they were hiding something, and it made me want to dig up whatever buried secret they were keeping.
“Ma! Pa! Please! Tell me, what happened ten years ago?”
“Ma, Pa, I’m leaving now.”
I GOT ON my bike and headed toward my new school. This was exactly what made moving houses so difficult—everything was new. New house, new school, new classmates, new faces and names to memorize. Honestly, I couldn’t even count how many times I had transferred schools throughout my life, but maybe Mom was finally telling the truth this time—that we were really staying here in Laguna for good.
Passing through the massive gate of Laguna Sports Complex, I rode past the huge field where the Palarong Pambansa was often held. I also saw the tall staircase with a giant statue of Dr. Jose Rizal standing at the top. Rizal actually looked a little chubby there, and even the sword he held was curved.
Inside the complex was the university I would be attending—Laguna University. It was spacious, beautiful, and refreshing. The only thing I disliked was how far my classroom was from the gate. Even the facilities were spread far apart. I thought I had chosen a nearby school. Nearby from home? Yes. Nearby classroom from the gate? Definitely not. Good thing I had a bike.
I parked my bike and walked upstairs to my classroom. A professor greeted me at the door and asked if I was the new student the Dean had informed him about. I simply nodded.
As usual, being a transferee meant I had to introduce myself.
I caught everyone’s attention as I stepped to the center of the room. All eyes were on me. I took a deep breath and began.
“Hello everyone, sorry for the interruption. The name’s Aedrian Alminario. Sixteen years old.”
Everyone remained silent.
“Alright, Mr. Alminario, welcome to Class 12-A. You may sit at the back now. Anyway, I am Professor Tobias, your homeroom adviser.”
I smiled at him and walked toward the vacant seat at the back. It was obvious nobody was sitting there, so I took it. I observed the entire classroom—four corners, a big whiteboard in front, one brown table, thirty seats—just like my previous classroom back in Pasay. There wouldn’t be much adjusting.
My attention was caught by my seatmate, who was snoring right in the middle of class.
Really? This early in the morning? Aren’t we supposed to study in school?
“All eyes on the board!”
I looked at the professor—what was his name again?
“Tobias… Professor Tobias.”
My brows furrowed when I heard her speak. I thought she was sleeping.
She sat up properly and tied her shoulder-length curly hair. She stared at me like there was something wrong with me.
“Hey, transferee?” she asked. “Err, obviously. By the way, are you a detective?” she added.
I frowned at the sudden question.
“D-Detective? Is that your own way of saying ‘how are you?’ Ehh?”
She leaned closer, almost as if she was sniffing me. Weird.
“Well, you know, I can smell and see something eerie from your aura… hunger for truth, ehh?”
My brows furrowed even deeper, and I shook my head after she copied my “ehh.”
“Well, I smell something creepy from you too,” I answered before shifting my attention back to Prof. Tobias.
Lucky me. My seatmate seemed mentally unstable.
The morning class ended, and my classmates gradually left the room. Some of the boys introduced themselves to me, and so did a few girls. I headed downstairs and walked toward the canteen.
“Hey, transferee! Want me to tour you around? I’m guessing you haven’t explored the whole university yet!”
I turned around and saw my seatmate. What was her name again?
“Nica. Maria Janica Silvania!”