[Philippine's human rights violations] A Thousand Little Deaths Growing Up Under Martial Law in the Philippines #7/152

When the soldiers asked her questions, she looked at them with neither cowardice nor apprehension, answering firmly, without losing her calm. Being around her soothed me, if only for a short while.

Then my gaze turned to the windows, where I noticed it had gone dark outside. I looked at my watch. It was after 9 pm. Moments later, she asked, “Do you think we could turn the lights off now so we can sleep?” She said this in a tone like an older sister asking this to a younger one, one whom she senses is afraid.

“Sure,” I said, though I felt uncertain. Did I want that soldier creeping in on us in the dark?

She stood up, walked up to the switch on the wall next to the door, and turned the light off. The room was instantly cast in darkness but for a sliver of light coming from a street lamp that cascaded gently by the casement window. Lying on the cot, I arranged the bedding tightly around me, hoping to be cocooned against the almost physical terrors gripping every part of my body. Then I started to shiver and shake, drawing the bed sheet and blanket still tighter around me.

My thoughts drifted to home. Ima and Tang were probably getting ready for bed. My sisters, Atching L., Timmee, along with cousin Q., were likely watching TV or maybe doing schoolwork. The twin boys, K. and T. and my older brother, Koyang J., would be on the patio, telling stories or with friends listening to music. A jolt of pain shot through my chest as I saw these images in my mind. My family was only a few short miles away and yet they might as well have been a million miles from me. It was as if a cord had been cut suddenly and cruelly. Maybe I would never see them again. Sleep eluded me that first night; and did not come easy for many more nights afterwards.

Around six the following morning, I heard a knock on the door.