"I had to avoid colliding with un-liberated souls. Of course I prayed for them, whoever they are, whatever pain they suffered from. I just can't bear the thought that they are so real."
My name is Andres. I am Andoy to my family and buddies. I was already in my early forties when I found a good job as a driver-mechanic at a copper mining company in Barangay Lutopan (Don Andres Soriano today). I am from Cebu City.
Every weekend, I would come home to Cebu City to be with my wife and children. On a manic Monday, I would report back to work very much like a student on a five-day class schedule.
The only thoroughfare then that connected Cebu City to Lutopan was Manipis Road via Lagtang in Talisay.
Since mines operations are quite complicated and demanding, I had to observe a third shift. It's called "pang-tercera." So there were those Mondays when I have to leave Cebu City by early evening so I could punch in at work by 10 p.m.
On one of those evenings, when things seemed to be normal and peaceful, and a transient could enjoy the crisp mountain air and the splendor of fully grown trees at the Osmeña Reforestation site in Camp 7, Minglanilla, a manifestation of the afterlife jolted me.
In the darkness of that chilly night, the headlights of the bus I was riding spotted a lady flagging down the vehicle. At a glance, there was nothing unusual about her. In tune with pop culture, the lady was sporting a yellow baby sack dress, her waist-long hair parted in the middle and styled to a fly-away at the edge. She was in step-ins. Her eyes searched for a vacant seat. All of the passengers were men, duty-bound at the mine site.
Some co-passengers started looking at each other, giving the signal as to who might be kind enough to give up a seat for the lady, as dictated by the norms. Then when one stood up to give way, the whistling and heckling began. I was two seats behind the driver and the only time I turned around was when the girl boarded. It was not an effort to scrutinize. I was just quite intrigued by her presence at the refo site at such a late hour. I saw her occupy the given-up seat from a rear-view mirror, recognizing the gentlemanly nature with her nod.
"Nindot gyud pag chicks ba kay dali kaayo ta maibot sa atong gilingkoran, (It really pays if you're a girl. Men tend to give up their seat in haste)," teased one.
"Maayo unta mohatag si Miss sa iyang ngan sa dili pa ta kaabot sa atong destinasyon (Hope Miss would be gracious enough to give her name away before we arrive at our destination)," chimed another.
And as the lady was cuddling her pet puppy, leash tied around her right wrist, the head of the puppy close to her breast, another gave a mischievous side comment: "Hayahaya sa itoy uy. Maypang itoy, bai! (What a blessed puppy it is. Some pups have all the privilege)."
Then, the bothersome thought nudged again. Why would a girl, in her 20s be at the site at 8 p.m.? How brave of her to have been standing in pitch darkness waiting for a vehicle to pass by. But even if she was some hitchhiker, there were so few investing on such a tricky dirt road carved precariously on a mountainside at an estimated 80 feet high (highest point) from the snaking Mananga River. So why, sans human companion, would she take her chances?
It only took a blind curve, from where she had embarked, and about a 15-second downhill negotiation when the lady's voice reverberated: Paaaraaa, nooooy! (Pull over!).
There wasn't any house in view at the area where she disembarked. So the concern in me, as a father of grownups, came rushing. I would have wanted to stop her and investigate why of all places, she would go down in a deserted area at the outskirt of town. But long before she could be issued a ticket, she was gone. So that even the fare collector raised an eyebrow! She became the object of our discussion. But minutes just past, as we were about to leave the forest, when she was there again standing on the roadside, flailing an arm to signal a stop.
How could she have walked that fast to reach the area long before our bus could be there? And so I told the driver loudly: "Ayaw hunongi, bay ha! Binuangan ta ani da! (Don't ever stop, buddy. This is becoming to be a bad joke!)."
But when the bus gathered speed in an attempt to zoom past her, the engine conked out. The lights died out. We began trembling in fear. Instinctively, we reacted in synergy: thrusting up quickly the wooden panels of the windows, shutting the door to the bus' single entryway with its metal lever. Some co-passengers grumbled. They started blaming the three men poking fun at a situation earlier. Then there was a long eerie pause. As if we were watching a movie in slow-mo, a soft shaft of light came from behind the bus. We could not look out though. So we waited, amid gasps and pants, what would happen to us next.
As soon as the next bus was nearing us, its lights reflecting a stronger impression on the surroundings, the engine of our own bus whirred back to life, mightily, together with the lightings. We couldn't hold back our hurrahs of relief!
The driver took the opportunity to accelerate at a menacing speed, but it was the most comforting ride of my life.
Later, when we gathered for our coffee break, we tried making sense of that situation. It was then that we learned from some co-workers who had their share of encounters with "the others" that such entities do manifest themselves at the area whenever they seem to want to petition for prayers. Especially on days nearing the observance of Todos los Muertos (All Souls Day). These are believed the souls who suffered during the last World War, as Camp 7 was actually one of several strategic camps put up to ensure the protection of Cebu Province during the war-torn years.
Immediately, I severed ties with the mining company and opted to drive a taxicab in Cebu City instead. I had to avoid colliding with un-liberated souls finding a niche in the refo site. Of course I prayed for them, whoever they are, whatever pain they suffered from. I just can't bear the thought that they are so real. It even came to me that maybe so many occasions in our life they have been there - trying to appear as real and normal, as if nothing's haunting and daunting!