Hello, Neighbor

The rain arrived overnight—not the violent kind, but the persistent sort that stitched the earth back together. It drummed gently on the tin roof, pattering like restless fingers. I woke to that sound, and to the faint aftertaste of something floral still caught in my throat.

It had been there when I fell asleep. Faint. Lingering. A scent woven from memory and warning.

But now, nothing. Just damp air and the distant clatter of tricycles navigating puddled roads.

I stood, joints stiff like I'd slept underwater. The pouch still sat untouched on the desk, looking smaller somehow. More like an invitation I'd left unopened too long.

I left for the wet market before my thoughts locked me in again. Some residents already recognized me. They greeted as I walked through the slippery cement and fish-scented stalls.

"Matet's back. Saw her this morning in the palengke tagged along by her grandkids. Fiesta mode activated," they said as they also talked about getting goods from their balikbayan boxes.

So that was that.

No secret meetings. No cryptic warnings. Aling Matet had simply gone to Manila to fetch her children. Normal. Boring. Human.

And yet...

The timing sat oddly on my skin. She left just before the assembly. Right before the stories began slipping out like hairline cracks in a dam.

I decided to visit her. Not for answers. Not even to ask about the pouch. Just... to see.

The walk to her house felt longer than usual. Maybe because I was paying attention now—really paying attention. The way the trees leaned just a bit too far into the path. How the birds grew quiet too quickly when I passed. How certain rocks on the trail felt familiar beneath my soles, like they remembered a version of me I hadn't lived yet.

When I reached her home, the gate was open.

A girl, maybe nine or ten, sat on the steps biting into a ripe mango, juice dripping onto her dress. She looked up with wide, observant eyes.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi po," she replied, licking her fingers. "Are you the writer?"

I blinked. "I... think so."

"Lola said you see things."

Before I could respond, the door creaked open. Aling Matet appeared, wearing a faded floral duster and the kind of expression that made you feel seen before you even spoke.

"Arin Mondelez," she greeted, as if reading my full name from the sky. "Tamang-tama. I was about to send one of the boys to your house."

I followed her inside. The house smelled of boiled ginger, rain-dampened clothes, and something faintly metallic—like a pocket watch left open too long.

She gestured toward a chair. I sat.

"I missed the assembly," she said, stirring a pot on the stove. "But I imagine it was... colorful."

"Somewhat," I replied. "Someone talked about cracks in the land. Faultlines older than faultlines. Sightings..." I continued the words like dozing off.

She didn't react. Just nodded slowly, as if stirring the air along with her soup.

"You already know," I said quietly.

"I've always known," she answered, turning to face me. "But knowledge is like rain. It comes when it must—not always when it's wanted."

I hesitated. "Why didn't you tell me more?"

She came over and placed a hand on my shoulder. Warm. Solid. Mortal. "Because once you know, you cannot un-know. And you, child, were still choosing which world to belong to."