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Kara kruz: sins of desire (10th palkat)


Kara Kruz: Sins of Desire (10th palkat)

Kalis Marco S, M.R.B.

The flowers you gave me
Are just about to die
When I think what could’ve been
Makes me want to cry
-Tiffany, Could’ve Been

Part V, Da Formula 5

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is based on true events and confessions during tita Judge Aramina’s trials and tribulations. Names, places, and events are slightly modified and altered not to sensationalize but to hide the true personae and identities of the characters and any similarities to your real life experiences are purely accidental, co-incidental, and unintended. Peks man, cross my heart and hope to die. Discretion is strongly advised as some readers might find the contents just a little offensive.

(apparently, I have to keep it non-erotic, non-explicit, and non-wet dreamy, tita Judge Aramina can only hope)

“Really Kal-EL, ‘tita Miss Taken could have potentially became Doña Erika’, ‘became’, Kal-EL?”


Confused, I quickly checked 9th palkat the other day and showed Alma what was written in my previous post:

‘tita Miss Taken could have potentially been Doña Erika’

“Ooooooo! I think I know what you did Kal-EL, you logged back in and edited your post!”


Just like backspacing when making a typing error? Or clicking the undo button when playing solitaire? Or going back to the last saved video game when you die?

Hmn, if life could be that easy eh, I mumbled to myself, just go back in time and change the events when you realize you followed the wrong path.

Just like what my mommy Miss Brenda tsismissed… eh, communicated to my daddy Marco San about tita Doktora Diana, Alma’s mommy, apparently, Alma’s real father offered to marry tita Diana when she became pregnant, but tita Diana refused… and then… and then… apparently, tita Diana had regrets… hmn, what could have been if tita Diana accepted that proposal…

I was patiently waiting and trying to be awake for my mommy Miss Brenda’s revelation of the name of Alma’s real father during our NYC trip last year… but I fell asleep… darn that Sienna’s air conditioning.

Speaking of ‘could have been’, or become, or became, apong Don Huan plans to write in his unpublished and still unwritten book Unbridled but Infinitesimal Wisdom:

Become, became, could have been, what’s the diff? Just like what my grade one teacher Mrs. Corazon Talvo told us, Madam Cory as we fondly called her, “Children, remember, Don’t Cry over Spilt Milk. Spilt, spilled, it’s all semantics, same feather, sumilisu children.”

The grade one apong Don Huan was apparently confused why anyone would cry over spilled milk; and how could anyone spill milk in the first place:

Our milk would never spill even if it would tip over in our uneven, gapped bamboo floor as we luspak on our datar, as we sat on our floor eating our breakfast. What’s really the point of sitting on a dining chair if we didn’t have a dining table? There was also no point of having a dining table because we had to use the same floor for sleeping during the night; we had to unroll and spread over the bamboo floor our ikamen, or banig, or our woven sleeping mat, woven silag leaves which could be very itchy if you have sensitive skin, mine was like balat-kalabaw, or like a carabao skin, tough and impervious to the sharp edges of the silag leaves or to any kiteb or surot or bedbug bites.

We never worry about spilling our milk even if it would tip over in our unevenly gapped bamboo floor (you could actually see the ground below our hut through the gaps where our pigs were patiently waiting for rice crumbs to fall). In fact, my mother would sometimes blow at the opposite hole of the can of condensed milk, Liberty condensada, to induce the condensed milk to flow faster into our nescafe glass of barako coffee.

Of course, my mother would never make the holes larger because alutiits or butikis or house lizards might enter our can of condensed milk and they would never go out because they would be soooo fat they’d never fit in that hole again. Until you open the can and find them lovingly smiling at you. I didn’t cry even if the butikis ate or drank some of our condensed milk. What would be the point?

The only time that the young apong Don Huan apparently cried (silently of course) was when he opened the pan-aw window of their hut one morning because Tibz was calling his name:

Hello Juancho boy! I am going to Hawaii now! Adios!

Tibz was frantically waving her left hand, their horse slowly navigating the uphill path, slowly until the kalesa and the horse and the waving Tibz disappeared into the other side of the hill; that was the last image of Tibz that was etched on apong Don Huan’s brain. He never had any photography pictures of Tibz because they did not have any celfons with camera back then. The only picture that he had was his drawing of Tibz’ image when he was in grade one, when madam Cory asked her pupils to draw anything that they like; their favourite flower, maybe an animal, or their pet spider. Apong Don Huan chose to draw the waving Tibz to always remind him of Tibz’ Hello and Adios.

Then the teen-ager apong Don Huan cried loudly, ‘nagrunga-ab’, when tita Henrietta disappeared like a smoke:

Waaaaaah! Wer art daw!

The only memento that apong Don Huan had gotten from tita Henrietta was Hope, the Hope cigarette that apong Don Huan bought from tita Henrietta’s grandma’s cantina. Apong Don Huan bought just one Hope cigarette because he was actually a non-smoker; he apparently just wanted to meet tita Miss Henrietta. He kept the Hope inside his baul or wooden chest, hoping they’d smoke it together someday, him and tita Henrietta.

(I’m not sure if apong Don Huan regretted not having consummated their love…I don’t even know the meaning of consummated)

Then the adult apong Don Huan apparently cried when tita Erika and tito Enrico Pontio Pilato Nga announced their wedding; tita Ma. Nancy B. was there to comfort him while they drank beer grande.

But tita Ma. Nancy B apparently was not quite sure if apong Don Huan cried again after a few years when she told apong Don Huan while they were drinking beer grande (again):

That’s right Juancho boy, sayang, you lost the opportunity, Erika was just waiting for you to say something, but all you did was stare at her. And, it would be inappropriate for her to make the first move because of these three reasons:

1. She is the woman
2. Her possessive and overly jealous boypren Mark
3. She thought you and her bestfriend Ana Maria were an item

“Wait a minot Brenda San,” my daddy Marco San suddenly interrupted my mommy Miss Brenda, “how come tata Don Huan and Ma. Nancy B of Basa Air Base Pampanga seem to be always drinking beer grande together… are you sure they never did any argentine tango while in the state of inebriation?”

“Well, Marco San, apparently, tata Don Huan would ask Ma. Nancy B the following morning what happened between them because he couldn’t remember a thing; Ma Nancy B apparently couldn’t remember anything too. So, they apparently agreed that since no one could remember anything, logic would dictate that nothing really happened.”

“Hmn… good point Brenda San.”

And they were apparently thankful the Philippine President at that time did not incarcerate them for being inebriated together.

“And how come Brenda San… it seem… except Rosario, it seem women would easily fall for tata Don Huan the lover boy.”

“Ha-ha-ha! Probably Marco San, tata Don Huan de Markus the loverboy has an anting-anting, or digdigammol, a gin-ginanmmol that he uses to make diga-diga to a girl… or perhaps… he has a mole in his…”

“Ups, no… sorry…” Tia Sidni the sorcerer squinted. Then she reached for her eyeglasses tucked in her designer black waist pouch. With her eyes wide open, we could see that her eyes’ pupils were still hiding somewhere because we could see the white of her eyes only. Then she put on her eyeglasses… ngiiiiiii! Her purely white eyes became magnified 10x! I tightened my hold around tita Lara Mae’s shoulders.

“I can see clearly now! No… the initials, not MH… it’s an M… and R… MR, the initials of the veiled woman with a mole on her left cheek just under her left eye, probably about an inch or half-inch down… just a small mole.”

Ha? The mole that tia Sidni saw was a real mole… a mole-mole, not a mole-spy? And the initials… MR… who is MR, I mumbled to myself.

Then suddenly, Tia Sidni snapped her buntot-page kullayot or whip toward the top of the alukon tree. Tita Lara Mae Dario Garcia jumped slightly because there were two images… large images that materialized near the top of the alukon tree, the tree that seem to appear like a tall Skyscraper. Two images… like King and Kong.

“There are three images KAL-EL,” tita Lara Mae whispered as if to correct me, turning her face toward me, our lips nearly welded together.

Then suddenly, two flames bacame visible near the faces of the two large images, the King and the Kong.

“OMG!” Tita Henrietta exclaimed. “The alukon tree is on fire…like… a towering... Dantes Inferno!”

“No Miss Henrietta! Tita Lara Mae exclaimed. "The fireflies are back!"

“No Lara Mae!” Tita Precious H. Polito also exclaimed. “Those are cigars… and those images are two cigar-smoking Kapres! And it appears the third image is Alexandria being held as a prisoner!”

“You mean…” tita Lara Mae’s voice quivered, her hair seem to protrude from her nape, “you mean detective Preci, K-Ks are real, those are real K-Ks…


Kalis Marco San, M.R.B. ©2018

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