Weaving Dreams, Thread by Thread III

After sharing a heartfelt meal and engaging in light conversation with his mother, Judio retreated to his room to prepare for bed. The night enveloped him in a cocoon of warmth and familiarity, offering a tranquility he hadn't felt in ages.

When he awoke, the sun stood high, casting golden beams through the window. He stretched, feeling rejuvenated after such a restful slumber. A rumble in his stomach reminded him of his hunger.

His gaze drifted to the ornate Roman numeral clock on the wall; the short hand rested on XII, while the long hand pointed to VI. Turning his attention to the antique desk calendar—a cherished relic from his late grandfather—he noted the bolded "Junio" and the circled "II," indicating the second day of June. Present Year: 3099.

The realization struck him: only a few days remained before the academy's registration period would close, signaling the imminent start of classes.

Judio stretched and carefully folded his malong blanket—a traditional garment woven with meticulous care. Its fabric, rich in texture and hue, bore intricate patterns that told stories of generations past.

He fluffed his abrazador pillows, ensuring his sleeping area was neat. Taking a moment to tidy his room, he then stepped out to find his mother.

The house was silent. A quick check of the kitchen and his mother's room confirmed she wasn't inside. Judio smiled, knowing exactly where she would be at this hour: the nearby Dambana shrine, just a few meters behind their home. Despite its size, the shrine was seldom visited due to its location near the edge of Kabunlawan, where the barrier still held a minimum level of protection.

Grabbing his bayong, Judio took some precious herbs inside, intending them as offerings. He made his way to the shrine, where he found his mother, Lena, kneeling before the altar, her lips moving in silent prayer. A faint mystical energy permeated the air, a testament to the sacredness of the place.

Lena was deeply devout, offering daily prayers to the gods, especially Mangechay, the revered goddess of creation, and the Sarimanok, the spirit symbolizing good luck.

As Judio approached, the faint scent of incense and the soft murmur of his mother's prayers reached him, blending with the gentle rustling of leaves in the cool morning breeze. He heard her softly implore, "May you bless us with the divine threads of protection, gods of creation, and may the blessings shine upon our path as the Sarimanok guides our way."

Respectfully, Judio knelt beside his mother, joining her in silent reverence. After about thirty minutes, Lena concluded her prayers. She rose gracefully, taking the freshly cooked meat and yema sweets she had prepared, and placed them on the offering plate. Bowing deeply, she murmured, "May you accept my humble offerings."

Turning to her son, Lena gestured for Judio to present his offerings. He stepped forward, carefully placed the precious herbs he took from his bayong onto the plate, and bowed his head in deep respect, honoring the gods and spirits that watched over them.

As Judio and his mother made their way back home, the usual morning sun cast a comforting warm glow over the village, still painting the earth in hues of gold and amber.

The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of dew-kissed soil and the faint aroma of blooming sampaguita.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier to help with the firewood and the farm, Ma?" Judio inquired, his voice tinged with concern.

His mother smiled softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Don't worry, anak," she replied, her tone gentle. "I can manage. You were in such a deep sleep; I didn't have the heart to wake you."

Judio's gaze dropped, a hint of apology in his eyes. "I'm really tired," he murmured.

Lena chuckled softly, her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. "I understand, my dear. Now, go eat and prepare yourself. The academy registration won't wait."

Nodding, Judio entered their modest home. The familiar scent of freshly cooked rice and adobo greeted him, a reminder of his mother's care.

As Lena watched her son retreat into their humble home, a wave of concern washed over her. His shoulders slumped, and his movements were sluggish, a clear sign of his overwhelming exhaustion.

Earlier that morning, before the first light of dawn, she had ventured out to tend to their backyard farm. The rhythmic sound of her sickle slicing through the tall grass had been a familiar comfort.

After finishing her chores, Lena returned inside to check on Judio. She found him still asleep, his face peaceful yet marked by the weariness of his labor. As she gently lifted his hand, she noticed the calluses—thickened patches of skin formed from the repeated friction of his labor.

The rough texture beneath her fingertips spoke volumes of his hard work. She also saw the faint scratches, remnants of his efforts to gather firewood, each mark a testament to his dedication. These signs of toil were a stark reminder of the month he had spent away, working tirelessly as Tatay Benji had informed her.

With a tender sigh, Lena decided not to wake him. Instead, she gently applied a soothing herbal powder to his calloused hands and the faint scratches, hoping to ease his discomfort and prevent any lasting marks.

As she finished, Lena leaned down and kissed his forehead, her heart swelling with love and pride for her hardworking son. She then stepped back, allowing him to continue his rest, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned to begin her own day.

After a hearty meal, Judio felt the weight of the day ahead pressing upon him. The cool water of his quick bath invigorated him; its refreshing touch was a stark contrast to the warmth of the morning sun that filtered through the bamboo slats of their humble home. His mother continued tending to their backyard farm, her silhouette framed by the rising sun, a testament to her unwavering dedication.

Less than an hour later, Judio emerged, his preparations complete. He retrieved his abaca wallet, the fibers rough against his fingertips, and checked the saved registration fee. The familiar scent of the woven fibers brought a sense of comfort and continuity.

Dressed in the new barong his mother had knitted for him, the abaca fibers soft against his skin, and dark pants, he felt a surge of pride. His mother had even bought him a new pair of bakya, the wooden clogs clicking softly as he moved, their rhythmic sound a gentle accompaniment to his steps.

"Goodbye, Nanay," he said, his voice steady, carrying the weight of gratitude and love.

"Goodbye, anak," she replied, her eyes filled with love and hope, a silent blessing accompanying him on his journey.

With a final glance, Judio stepped out, the door creaking softly behind him. He made his way to the academy near the town hall, the path familiar yet filled with the promise of new beginnings. The earthy aroma of freshly tilled soil and the distant murmur of the river accompanied him, grounding him in the present while his thoughts wandered to the future.

The plaza was alive with activity, the air thick with the mingling aromas of street food. Vendors called out cheerfully, their voices blending with the rhythmic clatter of wooden clogs on cobblestone paths. The scent of freshly fried kwek-kwek—quail eggs encased in a crisp, golden batter—wafted through the streets, enticing passersby.

Nearby, the savory aroma of kikiam, deep-fried rolls of minced meat and vegetables, added to the rich tapestry of smells. The comforting scent of lugaw, a warm rice porridge, lingered in the air, promising a tasty meal.

As Judio approached the academy, the lively chatter of younger students filled the air. Groups of children, their faces alight with excitement, gathered in clusters, their voices a harmonious blend of anticipation and joy. They clutched their registration forms, some nervously adjusting their uniforms, while others exchanged stories of their summer adventures. The familiar faces of his peers, some he had known since childhood, brought a sense of comfort and belonging.

Judio paused, his gaze fixed on the academy's grand facade. The building, constructed from Narra wood, stood as a testament to the town's enduring legacy. Its reddish hue, a blend of deep mahogany and amber, gleamed softly under the morning sun. The intricate grain patterns of the wood, with swirling lines and subtle knots, told stories of craftsmanship passed down through generations. The academy, though not vast, was the largest structure in Kabunlawan, its presence a symbol of the community's growth and aspirations.

Flanking the entrance were two sturdy guards, their vigilant eyes scanning the surroundings, ensuring the safety and order of the institution. The wide-open gates beckoned, inviting Judio to step into a world of knowledge and opportunity.

A sense of awe and anticipation filled him as he approached the entrance, ready to embark on this new chapter of his life.

With a deep breath, Judio stepped forward, the door creaking softly as he entered, leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds of home, and stepping into the unknown with hope and determination.