Flame of the Past

It's been days since I last posted an article. I really want to write, about my feelings, what I'm going through, my boring days, my past. But I can't seem to pull myself up to do it, that's why I thought that I might need to be in front of the monitor, place my hands on the keyboard and tap some words just to jumpstart my brain.

It may be a little late, but I want to write about @JonicaBradley 's first writing prompt: FREEDOM.

"I want you to think about the word freedom. What does freedom mean to you personally? How will you go about achieving freedom, or have you already achieved it?"

First, let me tell you about an incident that happened years ago.

It was in the middle of the night when everyone is in deep sleep. My parents were awakened by a loud knocking at the door, my mom got up to see who's deliberately banging on the door at that time around. It was my godmother, and she warned my mom about the fire. Their neighbor's house was burning like hell and she hurriedly went to our house to warn us after she got her kids.

My godmother's house was just a block away. Oh, for you to get a clear picture of our place, we were living in the slums. Though most of the house there was made of wood and aluminum sheet, the houses around our block were made of cement.

Our house and my ninang's house were both made of cement, the only difference is that our roof was an aluminum sheet and our mini attic was made of wood while their roof was already a concrete slab.

Going back, my parents woke me up and my sister then made me picked my young brother up. We went outside and she guided me towards the path to where we will evacuate. It was a bit far and my brother's kinda heavy but the adrenaline made me forget about it for a while, that I almost didn't see the electricity post on our way and my brother's head hit it. I was only 15 back then and super clumsy. Once we reached the evacuation area, they left us there to wait. My siblings and I together with my ninang's daughters whom we were close, stood there witnessing the fire without any idea that it will soon cause our miseries. My miseries.

To give you ideas, the slums where we live are in the middle of a developed area. And a certain corporation bought the land to develop it and make it the business district. The residents were given relocation areas for us to start anew. But I guess the reason why some people don't want to leave yet is the accessibility to almost everything; schools, malls, work.

And that's why there were paid renters who will rent a space just to deliberately cause a fire, a fire that will burn people's houses and will make them leave. My parents lived there since 1994, I was born the next year. Since then, there are only 2 fire incidents that I witnessed but both did not affect our house and happened blocks away from us. But this fire was something we did not expect.

My parents came back to our house to get and save what they can bring. People are panicking and there are also others that are going in and out of the place just to save their things. Mom and dad only managed to save 2 of our clothes containers, 1 fan, and our computer's system unit and didn't come back to try because father said that on his last trip to our home, the roof is already catching fire.

There we stood as we watched people go back and forth to get what they can save. It was cold outside and we managed to arrange some blankets to sleep on until sunrise. The firefighters came after an hour and the fire was totally out by 5 in the morning.

Miraculously, the inside of my ninang's house was not touched by the fire and all their things were intact, though wet because of the water that the firefighters used. We went back to our house that morning to see the damage and to build a makeshift tent where we can stay while recovering. But since I have to go to school despite what happened, they told me to stay at ninang's for a week.

That was such a long introduction to a topic. I hope you're still here and if you are, thank you.

Seeing the ruins of our house broke my heart greatly. Especially seeing my favorite books became ashes. It hurt so much to a point that I don't even know how to describe my feelings. Since then, it felt like a part of me died on that fire. It was devastating, my favorite books, my blank notebooks, my sketches, the songs and poems I've written, gone. And until now I can't help but feel regretful of the loss. Until now, every time I think of what the reason might be for that incident, I can't think of any valid reason. It almost seems unfathomable. Or I guess it's just a matter of moving on?

Yet somehow, it feels like the part of me that died on that fire years ago was only in a deep coma, still recovering. That's why years later, I tried to create again. I tried calligraphy, watercolor painting, I drew again. But I still feel something missing. Seems like that part of me is still trapped in a deep slumber. I want to set her free, but I'm helpless. But still, I want to try. Though sometimes I think I need the help of an expert who can elaborate on what am I going through.

I'm hoping that it makes sense even though I know it doesn't. I really want to make something that gives value to people. Right now, all I can write is about me. And some of my writing may not be systematic yet, but this is a great platform with lots of opportunities and there's no harm in trying, right?

I would like to thank my sponsor @Bjorn for being inspiring and supportive.

Lead image source.

Google image from satellite.

Second photo source.

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