Miles of Stranded Lights

I couldn't quite clearly.

The evening dew hazed everything. All I could see were blurry illuminations of rear lights of the other speeding vehicles along this endless road and the light of the idiot box trying to entertain the sleeping passengers just wanting to reach their destination and receive a warm hug from their family members at this time of the year - Christmas season.

Amidst the backlight of some open cellphones, all I could see were tired but satisfied daily workers, maybe dreaming or imagining on what they would get the time they reach they houses. The bus was filled with pasalubongs, gifts wrappers, small and big figurines of Santa and wraps and bags of toys, safe to assume that such were brought from Divisoria.

We were running at a tremendous speed, knowing that the driver also has the itch of finishing a night of hard work and hope of hot cup coffee waiting in his house, prepared by his wife on tiring span of the year.

But certainly, the bus would stop somewhere. I hoped it stops because I was hoping to reach my destination in time - for there could be no time at all after a couple of hours . I already wanted reach my destination a place I once called home.

But I wanted to come home not because of Christmas season, but because of my mother.

It has been almost four years since I have celebrated Christmas with my family. I have always been stuck at work for the pass few years, and why would I even bother to go home for such season, knowing that my brothers and sisters are all in HAwaii having their good time their?

Who am I to go to - my father? He who left me at the age of seven for some other woman who works at a well-lighted bar one of his business? Bullshit.

Well, if there would be one reason to go home, that would my Tita Mina, she who took care of me from the very start and course, my dearest mother.

But my mom has always been telling me that I should just be busy with my school works and ACADS, that I should not come home for Christmas just to join her for a meal at two of three servings.

I once tried to insist on going home for that season but she told me that if I were to go home, she would not let me go back to Manila anymore- no more studies and no more schooling. It was not a threat; it was reality waiting to happen because of the tension in her voice. I know her too well.

Well that was the only time I attempted to go home. I really did not know the reason why she did not want me to go home; I just really didn't understand her logic. All she kept doing was send me pictures of her, happy cooking as always together with Tita Mina.

But one call changed it all.

"Kristoff, come home"

It was Tita Mina. I would have refused. I would have told her that I had too many papers works and reports to finish. I would have reminded her that it was Christmas season, and reminded her that my mom would not want me to go home for such time of the year. I would have told her that the home that rings to me is now just a construct of my past - which the home I live in today, the one filled with cheap books and dirty laundry, was the place I know consider my place of residence.

I would have said such things, only if it were questions. But it was not.

There was tension in Tita Mina'svoice. I could feel it. There is something wrong.

"What's the problem Tita?'' I asked

"Your mother .... Ahh...she's sick. She needs you now..."

I did not let her finish the sentence she was about to speak of in a voice. I was not used to. I picked up my back pack and squeezed my stuff forcibly. I took my wallet; only a couple of colored bills left in it and took the first trip back to Quezon. I was nervous; I could not find the courage in me to ask what is happening.

I could not do anything but pretend that I was comfortable on this ride.

I was blankly staring at the windows when my phone rang again. It was Tita Mina.

Hesitation struck me first. I do not know if I want to answer the phone, or just wait until reach our house and just talk to them personally. But no, some instinct told me that I should pick it up and answer the damn phone. I needed to.

"Hello?" I asked, while my voice seemingly in struggle to find a normal tone.

"Kristoff" it was my mom. Her voice sounded strange though, that made eyes watery.

"Ma. How are you? How long have you been sick? Are taking any meds from the doctor? I'm coming home though. Is Tita Mina taking care of you?..." The words came out to my mouth as if they were bullets trying to find the right targets.

"Relax my son. This is nothing. I just caught a fever. You should have not take a bus just to bother. I'm okay I promise" She said, cutting off the questions I was about to continue.

But something was wrong. I knew it. Her voice told me so. I wanted to shed a tear or two, but I was still not sure.

"Ma, please give the phone to Tita Mina. I want to talk her"

There was a moment of silence. I knew she would give the phone to Tita Mina.

"Yes Kristoff?" Her voice was melancholic. The depression was all over on how she delivered her lines. I had to ask.

"Tita Mina please tell me the truth. The truth Tita Mina. What's wrong with her?" I tried to sound like I was still in my grounds, collecting myself and pretending that I am not about to cry.

"She has cervical cancer Kristoff. Stage four. The doctor said she does not have any time left..."

It hit me.

All heard was her weeping, though I could hear some of the passengers screaming and panicking. Though the horn of the bus kept honking and honking the silence inside my mind was deafening.

I was blank.

"Can you give the phone Ma, Tita Mina?"

I could feel the salty tears from my eyes dripping through my cheeks. I was devastated by the fact not because she was dying but because of the fact that I did not even bother to know.

"How long have you been sick ma?" I asked, still trying to keep vice composed

"Four years Kristoff. Four years." she was tired. I could tell.

"Is this the reason why you don't want me home? Why you always keep telling me that I should just be busy in school? Is that why?" I was not able to hold on my tears. It burst from my eyes.

"Yes, dear. Yes" spoke in very low voice.

Although everyone else was screaming while the bus kept speeding, I only cared of the words that came out of her mouth.

" Ma. I love you very much. I'll be there okay? Hang on. Hang on. I love you so much"

My words seem to trip as my tears made edgy.

"Kristoff. I love you too. Please, tell this also to your dad and bother and sisters. I love you all."

There was a moment of silence from the other line of the phone. I heard Tita Mina's cry. I kept on waiting for the next words she would say but none came after. Silence was at its darkest stage. From that point. I knew - I was alone.

I closed the phone and stared blankly at the windows - the stranded lights

Everybody else was screaming. The speed was unimaginable. The brakes have broken down. The road was slippery. I knew I was next.

I have travelled hundreds and hundreds of mills for nothing.

"I love you too, Ma"

and then a moment of silence.