It was a Saturday and a payday. The sun was asleep that day and the dim clouds hinted rain, but I was up early for my Master’s and I had to beat the previous night of writing a thesis proposal and singing lullabies for my one-year old girl. My sleepy face invited a debate from my wife whether I should go to school or not. I won so I took a freezing bath and packed my bag. San Isidro was a one-hour drive from Mati City and the ride entailed enduring the meandering road that I had gotten used to.
My classes proceeded with lectures and hasty reports prepared by my preoccupied classmates. For fairness’ sake, I hoped they also struggled on the way to school.
I could not go back home without buying groceries and pasalubong for my six-year old girl so I had to join the rush at the supermarket. I went out of the market still alive, gladly. I carefully tied my box of groceries to the back of my motorcycle and headed home. While I was on the way, I was so mindful of my load that I checked it with my left hand from time to time. I was worrying that the knot was loose. I tied the box with the interior of a motorcycle wheel cut into a strip, a sort of a rubber tie, which got tighter while I travelled. At the time, it had grown a bit short.
I was worried that my load would unravel by the time I reached the road construction at Badas. The repair had been taking forever. The government seemed to have a lot of money to spend. The sky was also growing dark, like cellophane filled with water and would burst any time.