There are hardly any fireflies to be seen. But I like this, driving on a lonely road with the headlights turned off in the middle of nowhere. The only sound to be heard is that of the wind. Endless silhouettes of trees and mountains passing by. The silence inside the vehicle. No attempts at small talks. No blaring music through the radios. No occasional phone rings. Absolute silence. The absence of fireflies. The disappointment in the little boy's eyes masked with humor.
I like this, looking out of the window and letting the night overpower my thoughts. This is my happy place i decide. I close my eyes and let myself drift away into the night until I disappear in it completely, until I become a part of it. The vehicle stops, the little boy leaps with joy. He is the first to get out of the car.
There is a tree on the side of the road lit up by the fireflies. There is no other way to describe it, it looks surreal. Just this one tree in the middle of darkness lit up by fireflies. The fireflies flying from one branch to the other, the last of their tribe, trying to survive the blows of monsoon. Still having the strangest of emotion, hope.
BINABASA MO ANG
Sillage
General Fiction"There's a word for it, (...) in French, for when you have a lingering impression of something having passed by. Sillage. I always think of it when a firework explodes and lights up the smoke from the ones before it." -Robyn Schneider Cover credit...
