Unripe

What wakes Malaya up every morning is the loud sound of water crashing upon the metal dike a few yards from her home. And at the very moment she opens her eyes, her mom would scream loud just to be heard against the roaring water, “Go there and check!”

Malaya sat up annoyed. Ever since they moved into this place, this freaking unpeaceful and lonesome but cheap place, she hasn’t had a morning of silence and gentle tweeting birds. It was always thunder-like noise knocking consciousness into her ears, forcing her to wake up. Not a pillow or a thick blanket can muffle it down. She once considered making the house soundproof, but her mom scolded her. They’re in this place because it’s what they can afford; where would her mom get money to make the house soundproof? If her dad listened to both of them before, they wouldn’t have had to move out.

Without changing her bedtime clothes, Malaya walked like the undead out of her room and through the backdoor in the kitchen. She saw her mom outside, squatting in front of the plot, tending to her favorite tomato plant. It’s a great save that she’s a vegetarian; she loved to learn and grow her own food. Even though Malaya hated veggies, she didn’t have a choice to eat anything else. She just spent her a glance and kept walking towards the river. She passed four overgrown mango trees and smelled rotting mango scattered on the grass. She was careful not to step on any of them. Gross.

A couple of yards away, Malaya can see the metal dike on both sides of the river, three yards apart and about twelve yards long. The water slapping itself on the rusty surface looked like big soft cotton drifting over the corner. The river had a zigzag form in this area and the dike was built to keep the water from crashing onto the soil and consequently avoid landslides.

 She stood near the edge confidently, remembering all the morning she stood on the same spot without the metal bending and breaking down the eight-foot fall. As usual, the river was clear except for what Malaya supposed are withered leaves. She had this routine for two months now and she has not missed a single day. The metal dike already gave her the impression that it will not… become anything that would worry her and her mom.

She stepped back a few feet and sat on a large root of the tree behind her and watched the dike for a while. She’s not hungry to rush back for breakfast, plus it’s boring over there with just her mom to talk to. Her dad came walking from behind her and sat nearby on another root with his back leaning on the trunk. “Had any mangoes yet?” he asked.

Malaya shook her head and smiled at the sky. She looked over her shoulder and saw him peel the green skin of the mango and bite excitedly even when he’s not finished yet. Then he dipped it on his palm with a little salt and took another bite. This was his favorite snack – unripe Indian mango. She returned her gaze to the dike in front of her. The water was starting to quiet down.

It was only on mornings that the river would make such disturbing noise, then by early noon, it would flow slower and quieter. Malaya’s guessing it’s about nine in the morning now. She woke up late for also sleeping late – last night was one of those scheduled breakdown moments. “I feel pathetic, Dad,” she whispered, thinking it’s silly.

Malaya sighed. She decided to go for a walk uphill where the water was coming from just to refuse to acknowledge the presence of her dad.

Weekends are the worst, she thought. On weekdays, she always had her new high school to keep her mind busy. Malaya is one of those students who choose to focus on lectures, assignments, classmates, and gossips than their lives out of the campus. But her motivation isn’t a medal, a status in school, or praise from people. She just hates staying at home, doing nothing, listening to her mom snore, and getting bugged by memories.

Sweating, Malaya realized how far she’d gone and looked up at the sun and guessed the time again. Ten o’clock, probably. She shrugged knowing that it’s fine and her mom wouldn’t nag at her out of worry. At these times, she’d be in the kitchen smelling like leaves and soil, making another salad. The river beside caught her attention. The former eight-foot fall became short, around just four feet, and its width was doubled now. Staring at the river, she saw her dad in her peripheral vision. When she glanced up to him, he smiled again – the same smile he’d been giving her when they moved to this place.

“You might get lost again,” he said.

Malaya knitted her eyebrows on him. It’s true that she’d gotten lost before, but it was only on their trips to puzzling places. She continued her walk uphill with a frown on her face. The last trip they had together three months ago was in Tabaco City on its fiesta. Of course, there would be new stalls and carnivals and closed roads. She got lost and her Dad found her buying a box of takoyaki beside the city square. He laughed hard while they walked back to the car and told her mom that her daughter would rather not get hungry than not get homeless.

She was brought back to her senses when she stumbled upon a coconut. She yelped and sat on the grass to hold the toes she hit the hard husk with. Now she’s more annoyed. She turned her head and looked behind her but her dad wasn’t there anymore. “Where are you now, huh?” She whispered with serious hatred. She sat there, straightened her legs, picked up the coconut, and threw it on the river beside her. The water splashed onto her. “Goddamn it!”

She knew she was acting like a spoiled brat and she didn’t like it either. But it’s alright at moments that nobody’s around to judge her.

It was just then that she noticed more floating coconuts on the river, but they were slightly smaller and their shapes weren’t as round. There are also waterlily leaves stuck on the sides of the river covering more than half of the surface. Only the center was clear. When Malaya stood up, she saw a view right in front of her that took away her anger. It was a winding river with a lot of waterlilies upfront. Malaya walked briskly forward and scoffed in disbelief. There were rills connecting to the now-wide-but-shallow river. What made it prettier was the sun’s rays hitting the water droplets on the lilies making them glitter like diamond beads.

“Let’s come back here again later on,” her dad said out of the blue. She turned around again to see him right behind her, almost bumping to his chest. The closeness made her yearn for a hug, but she knew they could never.

Malaya pictured herself and her dad in one of those romantic gossips her classmates had told her about their dreams with their crushes. “I’ll tell my classmates about you this Monday,” she said in a gentle tone she almost never used in speaking with him before. She walked towards the shade of a tree near them and sat on the grass with her legs crossed. Her dad followed. “They were always teasing me about having a crush but not telling them. But I really don’t have one.” I wanna focus on you, Dad was what she wanted to add, but it seemed too dramatic, and her family isn’t one open to sensitivities and emotions. She heaved a deep sigh and played with the grass, pulling those that tried to tickle her soles. “Gonna tell mom about this place later too. Maybe we’d have a picnic soon.”

Malaya looked forward again, leaned her back on the tree trunk, and stared at the scenery that brought back her composure. And maybe, she hoped too that it could bring something back more than feelings, but she wasn’t confident to admit to something truly hopeless. Again, she sighed, annoyed with how many times she already did. She started her walk downhill, and without looking at her dad, she told him, “I’ll come back here later. Still don’t know why it gets noisy in the morning.” She didn’t confess that she wants to have this kind of bonding with him again. It might be soon that he wouldn’t be around anymore.

While tracing her path back, she felt confused about what to feel. Her thoughts were occupied, and it made time to seem like it shrunk. She already saw the Santan her mom planted as a low fence for the backyard. Her stomach grumbled and she just realized that she skipped breakfast, maybe even lunch. She saw her mom from the kitchen window eating in the dining. The backyard was all clean too. When she opened the door, her mom set her eyes on her with the usual scrutinizing Asian mom gaze.

“Where have you been? Did you need to study the river too?”

“Tsk,” she reacted. “Well yes, I went uphill to see what’s making the current so strong in the morning.” She went to the cupboard and took a plate and a spoon for herself. She opened the pot and caught a whiff of the mongo beans. It smells so good. Malaya suppressed telling her mom about it, but she forgot to suppress her smile.

“Something good happened?” her mom asked, looking at her while chewing.

Malaya set the cold-and-practical child image aside. She wanted to be a heart-warming teenage daughter this time. She sat beside her mother and clasped her palms together. “Let’s have a picnic uphill.”

Her mom was awed. She hasn’t seen her daughter’s eyes as gleaming as right now. “… Okay?” she agreed without the paranoid questions she’d asked Malaya before every time she wanted something.

While they eat, Malaya told her all about the view uphill, but her mom wasn’t ready when she mentioned her dad. “We missed our monthly family trip last two months, and this will be the first one again even though it’s just nearby. Dad would’ve liked to come.”

Just that was enough to bring the wall back up between them. “We shouldn’t talk about that yet. You know that,” she warned.

Malaya pursed her lips, but she felt even more wanting to talk about her father. “I miss him.”

“Stop.”

“Why? I want to talk about him, I miss him, I hate my life without him!” she screamed. Her throat felt immediately sore; she wasn’t used to being loud anymore.

Her mom stood up abruptly pushing the chair back and falling. Although she wasn’t saying anything, she was breathing quickly and Malaya knew it’s her fault. She loves her mom and tries hard to not hurt her, but she just wanted to honor her father.

Malaya stormed into her room, shut and locked her door, and threw her pillow against the wall. She didn’t scream – as much as she wanted to, she chose not to. Enough with anger today. She laid herself down on the bed, hid under the blanket, and forced herself to sleep. But she couldn’t. The blanket couldn’t muffle the noise of the river every morning, and neither the noise in her mind at night.

Her mind was filled with whys, the same ones that kept her awake last night. Why did her dad have to die like that? He was just a normal driver of trucks, delivering in malls in different cities. Every time he’d pass by a wonderful place, he would remember to take them there on his day-offs. He would save up enough for one trip per month and that became their bonding.

It was just three months ago that he had an early delivery to the neighboring municipality, Bacacay, and his truck lost its breaks and fell into the valley with its front right into the strong currents of the river.

They were unaware of this until they got a call at dusk from the deputy chief of the area. His exact words rang to Malaya’s ears again just as it had always sounded in her nightmares.

“We could only pull half of his truck up from the cliff. The front half was destroyed. We still have our team down, trying to find him.”

But they couldn’t.

Malaya curled up in a ball on her bed, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. The pain held her like she was with her father somewhere along that river – dying. She didn’t eat enough, hadn’t had enough sleep, and couldn’t breathe with all her tears. “I feel so pathetic, Dad,” she said once again in a tone that finally matched her words.

On her daily checks on the dike, she had always thought about her father. His fall was far deeper, she would think if the metal breaks and I fall but come back up alive, what if he is too? But he would’ve come back already, real and tangible than her repetitive imaginations from the memories she most cherished. Malaya wanted to see a new smile but just as genuine, not the last smile he gave her and her mom that morning. She wanted to hear his voice again, offering her meals aside from unripe Indian mangoes. She wanted to hear him promise they’ll come back to a great place again, a different place, and actually come back, with him.

These kinds of thoughts were destructive, and Malaya had been pushing them away with schoolwork. But weekends are the worst.

The pillow under her head was now too wet with tears that she couldn’t endure. Slowly, with weak quivering arms, she pushed against the bed and sat herself up. Her blanket slid from her head down her shoulders, and she opened her eyes. She felt how swollen it was when her view wasn’t as clear as before she cried. It was dark. She glanced at the clock on the wall above her door and saw its green glow. Four. She fell asleep somewhere while overthinking.

Malaya took a few minutes staring blankly at the back of her hands. She hadn’t bathed yesterday, and she was wearing the same clothes she woke up with. She walked out like the undead again out of her room, out the backdoor at the kitchen, and uphill. She didn’t bother about her mom. I just hope she’s alright.

It’s dark and she hadn’t brought a light with her. She could barely see with the light of the moon. She also forgot her slippers. But she wasn’t going back. She wants to feel at peace so she could see her dad again. It was only in happy moments that he shows up. Whenever her cloudy thoughts come, his image disappears.

When she saw the rills, she knew she was near the lilies. She noticed how shallow the water got. It almost looks like it’s only the water from a slight rain. Then she finally saw the scene again. She stood there stunned and more emotional but smiling. There were no diamond-like water droplets now that the sun’s gone. What as there were flowers.

White waterlily flowers. Big ones. They were all over the river covering its entire surface that the water is almost unseen. The uneven ground, the curves of the river, and the fully bloomed waterlilies made the rills slightly overflow that they seem like small canals rather than few-centimeter-wide rills. It was beautiful.

“Let’s come back here again later on.”

Malaya felt her knees tremble and she sat down on the grass crying again. Enough crying too.

Her dad sat with his legs crossed beside her looking at the serene view. He was wearing the exact same smile again. Enough memories too. Please, Dad.

“Malaya!” she heard her mom call from behind. She’s looking for her.

She didn’t call back, her mom would find her sitting there crying at the night-blooming waterlilies, but she wouldn’t see her own husband sitting beside her daughter. He was only in Malaya’s mind.

When her mom stopped calling her name, she heard the gentle rustle of the grass behind her. “Don’t you miss him?” Malaya asked.

Her mom sniffed and wiped her tears with her fingertips. She stood beside Malaya opposite to the unseen and untouched memory. Finally. Malaya considered this moment as the first family trip after her dad had gone away. She didn’t know if they would have this again. She’s afraid that when she accepted that her dad’s never coming back, maybe he wouldn’t come back again even in her mind. She didn’t know either when the lilies would wither. Maybe soon. Then the water would flow freely again in the morning causing the rush to the metal dike.

Malaya and her mom saw the waterlilies as the flowers on a funeral that never happened. They saw the river as the grave of the body that was never found. Here he lies, and here he’d be remembered. From here on, the next family trips would be on the same spot and the same time, without costing a penny, or a life.

Malaya’s mom finally spoke in a hoarse voice, “I miss him.”