|In Macabebe on the road to the cemetery with Uncle Boy, 2001|
Daisy and I walk through the Macabebe cemetery, weaving between the neat rows of stone caskets. They are all lined up like soldiers in the military, high above the ground. The sun is with us, hot and unforgiving. Daisy carries an umbrella to shield the two of us. She is telling me about the last time she saw our Uncle Boy alive. How she worried about him living alone. How he never really had a calling. He was a free spirit, running about the town, helping people here and there. Always moving. Then one day, he disappeared and it took the town a moment to notice. She is telling me the neighbors found him dead, in the middle of a meal, the soup half eaten, the spoon and fork tossed to the floor. She is crying now, holding up that umbrella as if the rain is pouring down on us. “He was different you know.” Iba.