92 LITERARY
Bangko By Allegra Macatangay Illustration by Anna De Silva
T
he mango tree just outside Jonathan’s window probably won’t grow any taller. Jonathan sits in front of his desk, its edge
hitting the bottom glass border perfectly. His house is dimly lit and so is the outside he stares into the soft grey skies behind the tree he remembers naming “Bangko” in lieu of the difficulty of saying “mango” as a child. No bird chirps. Reminiscing in silence, he smiles. As a child of the 60’s, Jonathan dreamt of becoming a farmer unlike other kids. At about six years old, under the white-patched blues, he playfully planted mango seeds beside their house. A few mornings later, amid his heavy snores, his mother lightly tapped his shoulders to tell him a sprout grew. His feet shuffled in excitement as he wore his rubber slippers by the doorstep to step out for a look. His mother helped him with Bangko. At times, Jonathan cried to his mom when he thought he watered Bangko a
