As the first episode of the Philippines Graphic Literary Workshop (PGLW) slowly came to its conclusion on February 28, we knew that we had one more thing that we can offer our bright young fellows: a starting platform for their creative endeavors. Here, we present one of their final outputs from the workshop. We also asked them to provide an artwork that they think best represents their stories. Read on.
Today Jing ate eggs for breakfast. He cracked them carefully into the pan, making sure no shell fell in, the way he had been taught. While they cooked, he fixed his bed and folded his clothes into a neat pile. He chose his smallest backpack and packed only the important things—a photo where a hand rested on his shoulder, a purse with some coins inside, a yellow handkerchief that still smelled faintly of soap.
Today is the day.
He stepped outside and locked the door the way he had practiced, though the key was almost too big for his fingers. On the street he walked fast, then slow, then fast again, as he might miss something if he found the right pace. His legs were thin sticks beneath his shorts, and his shadow looked taller than he was.
Today is Thursday.
At the park Jing sat on the bench facing the path. He did not swing his feet or lie down on the grass or play with other kids. At first, he kept his back straight the way he did in class when he wanted to be called. But as the hours passed, his shoulders slowly folded inward. His chin dipped, his spine curved, and he did not notice when he started slouching.
Every time someone turned, the corner of his chest lifted, and every time it wasn’t the person he was waiting for, he fixed his smile again so it wouldn’t forget how.
Today is Thursday.
He stayed very still because being still felt like being good. And being good, he believed, made people come back faster.
The afternoon stretched. Mothers gathered their children. Vendors folded their carts. The light thinned into evening.
Today is Thursday, four days since his mother told him to wait while she bought something from the store across the street.
He had watched her walk away without looking back, her figure growing smaller and smaller, until it slipped into the crowd and did not return.
Today is Thursday and she might come back for him.
Jing kept smiling at the path in case she appeared and saw that he had followed instructions, that he had not moved, not really, not in the ways that counted.
Tomorrow will be Friday. Jing will have eggs for breakfast again. He will bring his backpack and sit on the same bench. He will sit up straight at first. When his back begins to ache, he will let it bend but not enough to look careless. He will keep waiting, all because his mother might come back, and he will be exactly where she left him.
Verna Crissa P. Villorente, top graduate of Santa Barbara National Comprehensive High School’s Humanities and Social Sciences’ strand, is currently a third-year English major at West Visayas State University’s (WVSU) College of Education. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Forum-Dimensions, WVSU’s official student publication, and also serves as Chairperson of the College Editors Guild of the Philippines–Panay Chapter.
