— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 —
THEA .𖥔 ݁ ˖ :
for lysolniLeonor ⚘( ၴႅၴ
— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 —
NAGA, OCTOBER 2024
Waist-deep. Heart full. Phone vibrating.
The rain hadn’t stopped—not for hours now. It poured with the kind of rage that made the skies look furious, like heaven itself had cracked open. The streets of Naga had disappeared beneath rising, murky water, the kind that clung to your legs and chilled your bones and smelled faintly of rust and ruin.
Leni’s jacket—once a pale yellow, hopeful—was now drenched and dark, clinging to her like second skin. Her glasses fogged up every few minutes, the steam from her breath battling with the cold, but she refused to take them off. Visibility was a luxury she couldn’t afford to lose.
Her arms ached from carrying pack after pack of rice, each one heavier than the last. She handed one over to a young mother standing barefoot on what used to be the sidewalk, her thin arms wrapped tightly around a trembling toddler. The child was shivering, cheeks blotched red from cold, eyes wide with confusion.
“Salamat po, Ma’am Leni,” the mother said, her voice cracking—equal parts exhaustion and relief.
Leni forced a smile, soft but firm. “Mag-iingat po kayo, ha? Babalik kami mamaya. May mga kumot pa kami sa truck.”
She gave the child a quick pat on the head before turning to wade forward, water now licking the bottom of her jacket, seeping through her pants. It was like wading through grief—slow, heavy, unrelenting.
A local volunteer in a muddied raincoat sloshed up beside her, handing her another sack. “Ma’am, ito po. Galing pa sa bayan, bagong dating.”
“Salamat, Jun. Dito tayo sa dulo. May mga senior doon.”
She adjusted her hood with one gloved hand, the other balancing the rice on her hip. Her phone buzzed—again. That familiar, insistent vibration she’d been ignoring all afternoon.
She sighed, pulling it from her pocket with wet fingers. The screen flickered from the water, but the message was clear.
Call from: BBM
(56 missed calls.)
[New Message] “Leni. Answer me. Please.”
Her breath hitched, just for a second.
She held the phone to her chest, the soaked fabric pressing it close to her heart. Eyes closed. A long exhale.
Then, almost reluctantly, she shoved it back in her pocket. Not now.
“Huwag ngayon, Bong,” she murmured to no one. “Hindi ito tungkol sa ‘yo.”
He never understood—not really. He always thought it was recklessness, this need to be out here, waist-deep in floodwater with strangers, handing out rice and blankets and hope like currency. He didn’t understand that for her, this was the point. This was the calling.
She didn’t have the strength to explain, not this time. Not with everything else drowning.
“Hindi nila kailangan ng panalangin lang. Kailangan nila ng tao.” she whispered, to the rain, to herself, to God maybe.
Behind her, a child cried. A tricycle roared past, half-submerged. Thunder cracked somewhere far off.
And still—
The rain didn’t stop.
YOU ARE READING
BongLeni Anthologies
RomansaA collection of BongLeni, or LeBong, one-shots-whatever you want to call it. This compilation features complex themes and challenging language. This is purely a work of fiction; I have no intention of making it real or offending anyone, unless the t...
