10/05/2026
#๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ป๐ผ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ด๐๐ฎ๐๐ฎ๐น๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ผ | ๐ฃ๐๐ฏ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฒ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ ๐ผ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ๐
๐๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ, ๐ข๐ด ๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐ด๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐ช๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐บ, ๐ช๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ช๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ต๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ญ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐จ๐ฏ๐ช๐ป๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ค๐ช๐ด๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐จ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ๐ด๐ฆ, ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณโ๐ด ๐๐ข๐บ.
I remember about a girl named Gabriella.
You see, Gabriella was not anybody. Some girl, probably my same age, who lived just along our street in Champaka. I met her when I was 11, though rather a bit odd, inside a local pub.
I was taught that the pub belonged to those, especially men, who had been miserably in life, whoโin their legal lives, only had a single registered license IDโs, just enough to get inside places, someplace warm and velvety, like the pub. Now, the pub, wherein madness can take place in any moment in the stretch of time, and where the storage room ofโwhat would almost always smell like rotting skin and putridโa third of the remaining air pollutants in the city is nestled in. Barbarians who would bar the doors outside werenโt as forceful and clingy during those times too, and well because, if anything, my Father brought me there. One of the effective excuses to come along.
He said weโll be meeting some relatives I may not have known yet. And the girl, left undisclosed, I found her sitting there, in a corner bench shed a little far away from an existing light, when she caught my wandering eyes.
Alone.
She was alone.
Well, in fact, she was kind of sobbing. More perhaps mourning for a loss of something, if it was not what I first thought it was. I chuntered for a bit of my unavoidably unhelpful compassion for another, followed by a thought. โWhy would any girl my age be here? And shamelessly cry alone.โ
Just when I was about to redirect the pattern of my thinking, I saw that she had a skateboard. While, a little down below the table, spiraled by its arms, she wore a pair of Chuck 70s, and even more unfortunate enough, she was wearing the same color as my favorite pair. Now, a skateboard, if not a lot of us knew, meant something different to society, back then.
It could be an avenue for rebel souls or a basic getaway from the oppression that comes with the freedom of a foundling. Well, as a kid, I had a fair amount of unwise judgment towards othersโthat I am quite aware of.
Seeing how unfair the world is around me inside that pub, I knew from this moment I would have to approach her. Demand of how she should walk more carefully with those chucks and brag about things like my bracelet or my tattered blue hat, or of how I drank coke in a fine, long-necked glass.
But not so long after this, a tall woman in an unusual-fashioned robe and a bright pair of heels seemed to walk towards her first. Holding a tray of ordered foods, she calls her not by name, but the word โanak.โ
And while, in hindsight, I havenโt really heard that particular word for rather a long time.
I figured, not all the most doltish-looking children are a reflection of their tragic upbringing, or of how they are treated in their own families. Because Gabriella seemed so loved.
And, it was a bit foreign to me, how love, I thought was only offered in the form of toys and burgers, was all along, could also be a gentle touch from a Mother, and words that build deserts of hope and skies of grace when heard be spoken.
I realized it was Motherโs Day that evening, and I suppose, much like Gabriellaโs skateboard, the pub belongs to the Mothers who try. Who tries to fulfill a healthy memory of what would soon be
called a happily-lived childhood. Who brings light to their loved ones, even when wrapped in a stream of darkness. Who, for a greater cause, puts their shoe into places with no hopes of being seen, and of the risk for something even more beautiful.
So, ๐๐ฎ๐ฝ๐ฝ๐ ๐ ๐ผ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟโ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐๐ผ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ ๐๐ฟ๐.
โ๏ธ Reejay Alcazar
๐ผ Nicole Audrei Rilles
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