The Smile of the Weeping Woman
I was nine when it happened, in the summer of ’87, at my lola’s house in a small town in Pangasinan. The town was quiet, nestled between rice paddies and...
I was nine when it happened, in the summer of ’87, at my lola’s house in a small town in Pangasinan. The town was quiet, nestled between rice paddies and...
When Marta and I first saw the house, we were desperate. Our budget was tight, and the place near the clinic where we both worked was either too expensive or...
The summer I turned nine, the heat in Barangay San Isidro was thick enough to chew, and the only relief was the afternoon siesta when even the chickens stopped scratching....
In the autumn of 2012, four friends—Maya, her boyfriend Leo, and their friends Jenna and Dylan—decided to take the long way home from a party in the outskirts of Millbrook....
I grew up in a small town in Batangas, where our house stood at the edge of a sugarcane field. The place had a peculiar rhythm: during the day, the...
I’ve spent my whole adult life working nights, first as a nurse in a busy city hospital, then as a night auditor at a faded grand hotel on the edge...
The old farmhouse had been in our family for generations, but it was only in the last few months that strange things began to happen. My brother Leo and I...
The summer I turned twelve, my grandmother passed away. The news came through a crackling phone line from my cousin, and the world seemed to tilt. I had spent every...
The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the tin roof of the old house in Vigan like a patient knocking. I had inherited the place from my grandmother, Tia...
Elara and I chose the cabin for its isolation. It sat on a ridge above the town of Pinehollow, a place that promised quiet and a view of the mountains...
I never questioned the old lighthouse keeper’s routine. Every evening, at the stroke of nine, the beam would sweep across the salt-crusted rocks, a mechanical heartbeat that had pulsed for...
My brother Mateo and I were twelve and ten, spending the summer at our aunt’s farm in the highlands of Mindanao. Every year, the whole family would converge there, but...
It started on a cold autumn night, when Maya and her three friends decided to take a midnight drive through the winding roads of the Balsam Mountains. Maya had always...
The trouble began with a phone call, or rather, a series of calls that my uncle Luis made from his apartment in Jeddah. He was usually good about time zones,...
It was a Tuesday in late October when I first noticed the thread. I was working late at Meridian Tower, a glass-and-steel monolith in the heart of Ortigas, my internship...
It was a Tuesday when I finally dragged myself back to my apartment in Manila, my bones still humming with the chill of Baguio. The three-day trip had been a...
The evening had settled over the apartment like a damp shroud. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the city lights into smears of amber and neon. Marcus leaned back on the...
Last Friday, during the annual Harvest Festival at the old Grange Hall, my mother, Clara, was volunteering in the prep kitchen. The hall itself was a converted barn from the...
The old farmhouse clung to the hillside like a patient, weathered hand. My husband, Daniel, had grown up here, and though he spoke of it with a sort of fond...
The house on Mango Lane had always been a sanctuary for our circle of friends. My brother’s colleagues, who later became mine, would gather there every Friday night, escaping the...
The year I turned nine, my family moved from the noisy streets of Manila to my grandmother’s ancestral house in the quiet province of Sorsogon. It was supposed to be...
In November of 2014, I was a fresh graduate from a hospitality program, landing an internship at the Aster Crest Hotel in Quezon City, just off the busy España Boulevard,...
In the winter of 2019, my family gathered at my uncle’s farmhouse in the rolling hills of Nueva Vizcaya. The house was an old American-era structure with thick adobe walls...
It was the summer of 2018, and the heat in the city was unbearable. My two friends, Marco and Jelo, and I were all phone bankers working the night shift...
Listening to the woods...
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