LITERARY

Editor: John Jared Garcia

LITERARY09

The best thing about being 18

If life was a video game, being a child felt as if I was playing just the ‘lite version’.

LITERARY09 In Retrospect

History was never my favorite subject in grade school. I dreaded the rote memory work that my teachers demanded.

WORDS BY JOHN JARED GARCIA

WE ALL HAVE our version of fears. Many fear death, fear public speaking, or fear creatures that crawl, and others might even cower from the dark. But mine was simple; I was scared of being reduced to nothing. 18th of September 2016—I still remember that wasn’t listening to my usual Spotify day, although not as vivid as before. With obscure music, but instead, I was listening fragments of it in my memory, I recalled how I from a cassette tape! That is weird since shivered with fear, gritted my teeth, and cried. I never owned a cassette tape in my life But what makes it interesting is that I was never (aside from my father’s, which is already used to crying. My mom would always tell me that broken years ago). What makes the situation I would rarely shed a single tear, even when I was weirder is that I am not at home. I am lying down spanked as a kid. In fact, she said that she could in a sparse dry carabao grass with the heat of count with her fingers how many times I cried, the sun scorching my whole body, my eyebrows and that day for sure was definitely one of her singed by too much heat, and I was drenched fingers. in my own sweat. I immediately got up, walked

That day, I remembered waking up with The towards the highway, and head back home—but Beatles music. I love The Beatles for sure, but things got even more bizarre. in the there’s something different about it. The sound I was suddenly in the street, and house answered, “Jose of “The Long and Winding Road” was different the place was loud. It was jam- is gone! Jose is gone! He is in the this time. Paul McCartney’s voice was raspier, packed with people and was filled plaza! My son is gone!” accompanied by a low but distinguishable hiss in with shouts and shrilling sounds of At that moment, I realized I was the background. His voice seems to wobble every police whistles. Banners and placards talking to my grandma. I froze. I felt now and then. It almost were all over the place. One of them like my whole body was soaked with ice-cold took me a minute to says, “Victory to the National Liberation Forces!” water. How can I be here? Why is Jose, my father, realize These are mass demonstrations, I concluded. gone? that I Rallies are not new to me, but this one is different, Then suddenly, I felt something different. I thought. Aside from the sheer number of A tingling sensation was crawling in my skin. I rallyists, the atmosphere was more intense. It was suddenly can’t feel my feet, and then my legs, and as if the life of everyone in the street was in real when I look up to my hands, there was none. and imminent danger, like a ticking time bomb My crying grandma looked up to me and asked, waiting for that one big Boom! A few moments “Who are you, Hijo?” later, I was proven right. All hell breaks loose “I am Jose’s son, grandma, your grandson,” I when the street was suddenly silenced, for a said. moment, by a loud explosion. And then suddenly “But, Jose never had a child, and he’s gone,” another one—Boom! Two consecutive blasts. she replied. As soon as she answered, I felt a big Everyone snapped. The silence was replaced with whoosh of air rushing out of my body, and all of a cries of panic and overwhelming chaos. I don’t sudden, I was nothing. know how I got the courage and the strength Then I woke up—in the real world this time. to move, but I remembered running. I ran, ran I was crying my heart out. It was in the middle and ran—I was bumping people, I can’t feel my of the night, and I heard my parents opening the feet, and I am almost out of breath— but still I door of their room adjacent to mine. I peeked ran. I remembered feeling utmost relief when I through my window, and I saw the neighbors’ got home. I’m home, at last, I am safe—and so I lights turning on. I think I’ve woken them all up. thought. As my parents entered my room, they asked the Aside from the fact that our expected question, “What happened?” to which I house looked different, the people replied, “Nothing, just a dream.” inside were somehow familiar However, the truth is, it was never just a dream but different, and our flat-screen for me. I was able to visit the past, way before TV was gone. I staggered when I I was born. But history changed—my dad died was met with strong, incessant, young, so I was never born. In my dream, history and heart-rending cries. I did was literally distorted. not mind the peculiarity of the Moreover, imagine all attempts to distort situation—how strangers were historical facts; how would this affect our reality? inside my house, and everything Yes, time-travelling only happens in our wildest looks different—I mustered up my dreams, so we can’t literally change the course courage and asked, of events in the past. But changing historical

ART BY VINCE DIZON “What happened?” narratives in the present time might even have the And then one of the ladies same effect—we will be reduced to nothing.