The Possibility Of You And Me

Chapter 3: ANDREA

Sir Omar dropped me off at the street corner, approximately one hundred meters away from our house. Gem Ver and I didn't have the chance to talk, and he didn't insist on giving me a ride home. He never looked at me the way he usually does. I'll let him be and live his own life since I haven't done anything wrong to him earlier.

I chose to take a narrow hallway as a shortcut to our place. I feel more comfortable passing through here, especially at night. I can reach our destination faster, and I know that I'm safer and familiar with this route. Even though it's dark, I feel confident passing through because I know everyone who lives along that concrete hallway. My steps were quick in the dim hallway towards our house.

The smell of mud from the open sewer on the side of the road wafts as I tightly hold the food I brought for my younger brother, Oteph. I know he'll be happy because it's rare for us to have a decent meal, and this one isn't from our father.

I deeply love my brother. I am ready to make any sacrifice for him, even if it means putting my own life at risk. I would even face death itself to protect Oteph from our father's spouse. He is the only family I have, and I will not let anyone harm him.

I know he hasn't eaten yet. Usually, he waits for me so we can have our meals together. However, I'm sure he must be very hungry by now since I was supposed to be home earlier. I hope he is still awake when I arrive so he can taste the food I brought from the caterer for Sir Walter's proposal.

Aunt Alma doesn't care about providing for or supporting him. She shows no concern for us and always has a fiery temper towards us, her stepchildren. I don't even understand why she holds such animosity towards us. In order to avoid any trouble, I try my best to stay away from her as much as possible.

In just a few moments, I am already in front of our house. The front part of it is dark because the light has already gone out. The Semi-bungalow house, which I still vividly remember being built by my father when I was just five years old. Back then, my father had a good job, which made him one of the first to build a bungalow house in our area.

When our mother died, it seemed like he lost his direction in life. He became addicted to alcohol and eventually got involved in gambling, even to the point of losing his job. He lost everything he had acquired, and even we were neglected. It felt as if we lost a father too, and our neighbors even said that we were worse off than orphans.

The house has been neglected. The damaged ceiling is almost collapsing, and the broken windows with unreplaced glass are noticeable. The once milk-colored paint on the front of our house has also darkened. The towering branches of the Duhat tree have been left untrimmed, swaying over our house, which adds to the gloominess of the place.

I often don't stay at home during Saturdays and Sundays. I would rather hang out with my friends and join them in cleaning cars at the car wash owned by the parents of one of our friends. I earn money just enough for our food, including my school allowance. But often, it is still insufficient.

From the outside, our once joyous home appears overwhelmingly heavy. The laughter that used to fill every corner of the house has now been replaced by silence and profound sadness.

Less than a year after our mother's death, my father immediately got married again. Grandma Gloria got angry because my father hastily remarried without even waiting for the proper mourning period for our mother. Grandma Gloria is my mother's mother, who was forced to return to Bicol due to her ill feelings.

Our home was not only overshadowed by extreme sadness, but also the shouting and violence from my father's second wife, Aunt Alma. I often find myself arguing with Aunt Alma due to her abusive behavior and mistreatment towards my youngest sibling, Joseph.