I flung my pencils and dashed outside.
My neighbors had already left without me. "They were so impatient," I muttered to myself.
My study partner was very focused on completing her assignments and was very conscious of her grades. Because of this, my mother always insisted that I stay at their house and befriend her. I didn't enjoy studying with other kids; it didn't work for me. I preferred to create my own formulas, come up with my solutions, and then, like magic, have the right answer. It felt like a magic trick that sometimes worked, but most of the time failed when it came to numbers.
One of my favorite things to do was fixing old magazines, papers, and books. I used to arrange them all on my study table while pretending to be an old, intelligent lady. Even though I couldn't read yet, I would imagine stories in my head while browsing the pictures. I loved the smell of the pages as I turned them. I had many toys. My aunts used to give us a big cargo full of chocolates, toys, and clothes. I used to play alone with my toys and would talk to each one of them. When I got tired of playing, the field was wide open and we could run, jump, hide, and sing. My neighborhood was awesome; we all grew up together. Sometimes they could be mean, but they weren't bullies like the children at school.
"I didn't want to do this anymore. I would finish it at home. Everyone was in the river. Let's go!" I exclaimed to my study partner.
"No, I should finish this homework. My grandmother wouldn't allow me. You'd better go," she said.
I jumped out of her bed while trying to avoid her grandmother. I was afraid to look into her eyes; she looked like the old woman with a cat in Mr. Bean. I was left alone. Everyone had already gone to our favorite place, which was far away from our neighborhood. Because I was a stubborn kid, I still followed them. I enjoyed being alone, so it was never really a problem. I crossed the famous bridge in our neighborhood. It was just two planks of wood, and you needed to be brave not to fall into the creek full of mosquitoes, tadpoles, and garbage. I tiptoed and held my breath as I walked slowly.
"Whoosh, this isn't that challenging," I said confidently as I began leaping and talking to myself.
I never felt alone, which was a strange feeling. The forest was calm and peaceful; excitement filled me as I encountered different carabaos and horses on the plain. The birds seemed to be resting, the wind blew and whipped my hair while the Narra trees swayed slowly and danced gently. My mind began to sing and my feet started dancing to the rhythm of the forest. I was almost there when I heard a loud noise. I turned around and saw angry dogs. Remembering my friend's advice, I started smiling at them, crossing my fingers, and biting my tongue, hoping these would be effective rituals.
The trick was ineffective at the moment, so I didn't know what to do and started running. I ran as fast as I could. It felt as if I was in a marathon, competing for the Olympic gold medal, with my heart thudding loudly and my veins turning red as the sunlight penetrated my tired body. One of them followed me, barking loudly and yelling at me like an old man. His teeth were gnashing in anger, much like an old man who suddenly woke up in the midst of his siesta because of a silly kid.
"Please forgive me, doggy," I shouted as I ran at full speed.
"GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"
I wished I could turn back time and blamed myself for choosing adventure over homework. I begged for mercy under the cloudy sky.
"GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" As I turned my head in slow motion, the dog slowly opened its big mouth, showing off its sharp teeth, ready to bite my butt at any moment.
"He looked like a cheetah!" I cried. I glanced at the clouds again, then closed my eyes and shouted his name.
"IN JESUS NAMEEEEEEEEEEE!"
He's a friend of mine, and I always have faith in him that he could save me at any moment. I grew up believing that Jesus is my Savior. My mother always brought me to Sunday school, even though I didn't want to. I often found myself as the fussy child in the hallway during prayer meetings, prompting my mother to leave early. I frequently overheard her morning and evening prayers, as well as her recitations of verses, urging me to invite Jesus into my heart.
Our walls were filled with Manila paper displaying Psalm 23 and Psalm 91. There were times when I woke up to the sounds of "God is Good" by Don Moen and all of his albums as our alarm clock in the morning. Sometimes it was a little too loud, and I even felt shy towards our neighbors, so I secretly muted it. One unforgettable memory is when my mother played "I Am the God that Healeth Thee" and it had a calming effect on my father, who was drunk at the time. It transformed the chaotic atmosphere into a peaceful and solemn night.
Still crossing my fingers, I felt like dying as an overacting kid.
Then, the mood suddenly shifted. It became quieter, and the dog stopped chasing me. I halted my running, with the dog still lingering behind. He was just staring at me. I could feel and taste my sweat as we locked eyes. Seconds felt like hours as we stood there, and he never barked again, as if responding to my magic word "time freeze!"
I was frozen in place, expecting an ambush at any second, but the dog appeared completely relaxed, calmly fixing its gaze on me. If I had to interpret his expression, it would be, "You better go now, little kid. Enjoy the adventure and be brave."
I smiled and turned my back, and when I looked back, the dog had gone home. As I continued walking and reached the river, I was still in awe. My friends were shocked to see me ahead of them. "Which path did you take? Why are you so fast?" they yelled at me. I tried to explain, but they were already jumping and diving into the water. I couldn't believe it myself, so I joined them in the water.
As I immersed myself in deep contemplation, I couldn't help but reflect on recent events and ponder the reality of His existence. Observing the other children dashing around, I realized that I was no longer among them. The once courageous child has now transitioned into a woman, grappling with frustration over the loss of her former bravery and consumed by a multitude of fears.
As I continue on my journey, I alternate between running, walking, and resting on different days. Though emotions ebb and flow, leading to overwhelming tears, unparalleled joy, profound confusion, and an unsettling feeling of being lost. Yet, just like before, I feel His presence even when it seems elusive. He's still looking after me, walking, and running with me. And slowly, these fears are fading away as I travel the uncertainty of the uncharted paths that lie ahead.
It was a bizarre experience, but I can still vividly narrate every detail of it. It was remarkable, unforgettable, and unbelievable when I was a little kid, and it feels the same way now.
Last day of being twenty-six. My life is full of grace, yet not I but Christ who lives in me.
