I am Maya, Goddess of the Moon, and I am grounded.
What that means, apparently, is I cannot leave the house. No checking my phone, no going online, no television. The words themselves ("grounded," "not allowed," "forbidden") mean nothing to me, but I am letting the woman ("Mom") who sees herself in charge of this mortal form believe otherwise.
I am feeling benevolent lately.
It wouldn't be so bad to stay home for a week, actually. This mortal form's social schedule is unrelentingly social; her only time alone practically is when she sleeps (and sometimes, not even). I matriculate in a higher learning institution majoring in business, run student government, organize at least one weekend soiree per month, am actively involved in a dozen or more different circles of friendship, save stray animals.
It would be nice to take a breath.
"Mom" is angry. My relationship with this woman is more volatile than those I've had with previous caretakers of my mortal form, when I've taken mortal form. Hair color, height, index finger circumference -- these details change, but some things cannot help but remain the same. The Goddess is always beautiful, always adored, always somewhat feared. Previous incarnations of "mom" knew how to handle this, knew to let this mortal form do as she wished. This one was not so accepting of her role in the greater scheme of things. "Mom" this time is Angela Castillo y Gerardo, and though to any bystander her life would seem enviable and easy, the truth is more complicated.
She hates her daughter.
Maybe it's that simple.
It is envy, and I recognize it, and in fact saw it in those eyes early on. As a goddess I can do something about it, of course; that is something Bathala will tolerate, if only to help retain some sort of harmony during this particular stay among the mortals. But I am also intrigued by this, and curious to see how long it needs to gnaw at "Mom's" soul before desperation sets in.
In any case, it is the first day of my detention, and I intend to sleep. That is not to say that I haven't anything planned. There is a solar eclipse today. A good day to set things in motion.
***
Too soon after the war I fought against my brother the sun, our father came to see me.
I didn't want to talk to him, but he does as he pleases. I understand where Apo and I get it from.
"You are recovering well," he said.
I don't speak for a long time. My father likes words, likes to hear them, likes to compare combinations of them, likes the weight of them in the air. It is why he asks for praise despite being able to command it.
I don't speak because I am still mad at him, and I know that I can show it by withholding my words.
He waits, but I don't give him the satisfaction. I reach for a speck of light floating between us and take my sweet time attaching it to my hair.
I could do this forever.
"There is the matter of your sister," he said, finally.
Tala of the stars. The coward.
He winces, and I know he has heard my thought.
"Now that you and Apo have divided the kingdom, I asked her where she wants to be. And she says she wants to be with you."
Yeah right. Like she was any help to me when I challenged my brother to the right to rule. And when he actually fought me for what should have been mine. She said nothing because she was waiting for a victor, and now that it's a draw she wants half of what's mine?
I turn away from my father.
"The truth is, you have to take her, Maya," he says. "She will not survive with Apo."
Not my problem.
"I command it."
As always.
"She will provide safe passage to all who ask for it, Maya. One day you will need her."
I need to rest, is what I need.
He chooses to emphasize the moment by illuminating the space we are occupying, and I see my reflection in the mirror that faces me always. I have a scar underneath one eye. I was wounded at battle, and it hurt like nothing a goddess is ever supposed to feel. It has not healed. It looks like it will never heal. It didn't need to happen.
"You look beautiful," he tells me.
"Not enough," I say.
***
So I can eat while I'm grounded. That means that this detention ranks at least a 2 on a scale of usefulness (100 being most useful). In other times, wayward children were disciplined through mortal peril, but offspring of the next generation are always weaker. I can also take visitors, which makes no sense as my mortal form is a magnet for them.
Maybe I talked in my sleep earlier, unknowingly broadcast my plan out to the universe. What a coincidence that the day I choose to rest, the day I decide to make one move forward, is the day I get unexpected visitors.
I sense my father's hand at work and I brace myself.
My first visitor is Tala. At this time she is a sandy-haired, slipper-wearing young man, skin dangerously sun-damaged, teeth unnaturally white. A drawing of a whale shark on his (her) shirt has faded from repeated washings. She is on the other side of the room but I feel gritty from the sand she must be shedding onto the floor with every step.
"Thanks for not dressing up for me," I say to her reflection on my mirror.
Her voice carries a tone that isn't from here. It sounds like it was formed on two different sides of the world.
"You look beautiful, Maya," she says.
They always say that.
"What did you tell my mother?"
"You mean the woman downstairs? That we met diving."
"I've never been diving."
"Not right now, you haven't, but you'll enjoy it, I'm sure."
"I would rather not." The thought of being in the sea does not appeal to me. The sea is of course governed by another member of the extended family, and he and I don't get along so well.
"Too bad. I'm a dive instructor now."
That explains the general look. Tala-as-dive-instructor makes herself comfortable on my bed, my beautiful, comfortable bed, and she enjoys the look she sees on my face as she does it. Tala constantly tests me, the way a child pokes a finger right into the spot you just said to stay away from. It astounds me that as goddess of the stars, provider of safe passage, she gets any devotees at all. And of those she has, that they don't end up wandering aimlessly into a void.
"You're going to explain why you're here soon, right?" I say, examining the row of hairbrushes laid out in front of me, and selecting one with a wide wooden handle and soft bristles.
Tala could use a bit of grooming, so this all amuses her. "Are you busy?"
"Yes I am, far too busy if you're just here to say hello."
"When was the last time I just said hello?"
Tala is smiling slyly, and this bothers me a little. It doesn't matter when I last saw Tala. She is a squatter in my kingdom; we occupy it together, we are always together. But this is not what she means, because she's speaking in mortal terms, the way time and space locks them down to the earth and keeps them there.
"Fine," I decide to let her play this out. "What do you want?"
"I've had an interesting few months," she tells me, "You'll never guess who has been hanging out in a remote fishing island south of this place."
"You'll never guess" is again one of those word combinations that make no sense to me. I am infinite; no riddle of yours will keep me guessing. But Tala speaks again not as we do, and I know what she is talking about.
She knows what I want.
"Diya told you why she's here," I do not guess, but confirm.
It is possible to know and not know someone, especially in my family.
Knowing someone is a given. We are all-knowing, after all. But what does that mean, when you can know anything? You decide you don't want to. So when it comes to my much younger relative Diya, I know everything there is to know about her, but I don't know her at all.
When she disappeared, no one knew where to find her. I've since found out where she is, but she's not speaking to any of us. I've kept my distance, because tantrums like this are common in my family. Like when Aman stopped attending family gatherings and only made his presence felt by destroying every vessel that sought Father's blessing as they set out to sea. It wasn't like Father couldn't stop him, but he let it happen. Aman had just been chastised and needed to feel powerful somewhere.
Of course the men stopped asking for Father's blessing eventually.
There was also that time when Apo retreated into a corner of his kingdom, punishing himself over what he had done to me. But that was voluntary, and though he didn't resurface until much later, we always knew where he was.
I admit that I didn't really bother with Diya before. She was the youngest of all of us, and when I heard that Father had given her power only over men, I didn't care for it. It seemed like the easiest among Father's duties, and I paid little attention.
"I've found Diya," Tala says now, proudly. The face she is using is handsome, rugged, and, come to think of it, exactly what a certain woman wandering in this world would want.
"Are you sure it's her? Maybe she's dead."
"You know she can't be. We'd have known."
"Yeah, well, we don't know everything apparently."
"She sought safe passage."
"She asked for you?"
Tala smiles again, and I want to rub it off her face. "You thought she'd come to you first?"
Yes I did. I am the goddess of the moon.
"What do you want?" I ask her.
"Notice that I'm coming to you with this information," Tala says, her hands smoothing nonexistent wrinkles on my sheets. "I want you to let me be."
"What are you talking about?"
"I let you have this, and you treat me as an equal."
"I do treat you as an equal." And yet as soon as I say it, the words fall flat. They are weak.
Tala smirks. "You will. I give you this and I will appreciate not being treated as a toddler your father asked you to babysit. I will not have to ask you for anything. I get to do what I want, just as you and everyone else can."
"You've always been able to..." I start to say, but she cuts me off.
"Believe what you want to, but you will do this for me. You know that there are others I can bring this to."
Yes there were. It's always a point of family curiosity, when one of us figures in a scandal. Cousins, aunts, and uncles like to talk and speculate. A few would care to know what the real story is.
Only one or two would care about what it all means.
I care.
"You are free to do as you please from now on, whatever that means to you," I say. "Now tell me."
***
My second visitor is Apo.
He cried, so I forgave him. My brother, I mean.
There is so much expected of him. As eldest he thinks he is to be everything to everyone, and my lazier siblings are all too willing to let him do all the work.
But I know what work means, and it is power. He shouldn't have it all. He works so well, though, better than any of them would have been able to, and he carries his burdens silently.
It's annoying that he's here, by the way.
My throat tightens, an instinct I have, always resisting being in the same place with him. I notice his mortal form, the same age, the same bearing, a male version of mine in the ways that mortals wouldn't recognize, and I swallow my next word.
He's here for the same reason I am, I know it. How... absolutely like him.
"You look beautiful," Apo is saying. Yeah yeah, we know that.
"Let me guess," I cut him off as he begins another compliment. "You're here for Diya."
He does that thing where he doesn't speak.
I am all-knowing, so I choose to know. Apo is easier than most.
In the moments that he spends silently half-smiling, I am finding out what he's been doing. There is the same humdrum school routine, pointless sporting activities, intermittent interactions with young people.
And there is a girl.
***
We don't experience time as mortals do. The stories we tell confuse their minds, and even those who've looked to me for inspiration have trouble making something of what I've shared with them. They think something's creation happened long in the past, and its destruction in a future close enough that they may influence it by doing something. (How funny.)
They are wrong. It is all now. But they can't see beyond a point in either direction.
There is an old story that my brother will fall in love.
"Fall in love" is a pathetic way to describe it. What it means is that something will fundamentally change in him. Anything that drastic has a chance to alter even me, because he and I are so connected. That has always worried Apo, because he isn't used to change. I have since decided that I will accept it, even welcome it.
I say will because it hasn't happened.
The way mortals' stories of us are told, it's as if we did all our living in the past. Not true. The story is unfolding. If my brother has been told he will love, and he happens to take a ride with a woman on a chariot an age or so ago, that doesn't count. He sees, hears, smells, touches women many times in his many lives. It has changed nothing.
But once in a while, we are in the same place, and time, and want the same thing again - and someone like Diya provides an opportunity.
Let's make legends happen, my darlings.
Let's talk about the girl.
***
"Tell me about her," I say, turning to face him. My chair swivels along with me. Even my furniture doesn't resist.
"Who are you talking about?"
"The girl. She's pretty. Needs a polish, but she's pretty."
I can tell he wants to talk about her. But it's me, so he can't let his guard down.
"She is," he says.
"Do you like spending time with her?"
"I do."
"See, not so hard saying it after all. There's a boy here who entertains me. Darren. Definitely in my top ten of all time."
"It's not like that," he says, predictably, because he's like that.
"Oh of course. I'm sure you've barely even held her hand. It doesn't matter to her though. She is smitten."
"That's not what I'm here for."
"Because you're here for Diya too, aren't you?"
"A lot of us seem to be."
"You know who was here before you?"
"Tala, I know. She's been counseling Diya for some time."
How did he know that? How long had he--? Don't worry about it, it changes nothing. "You know what she told me?"
He pauses. "No."
"That's interesting."
This is how our first fight started, kind of. It is how most of our fights are. It is Father's cruel joke, the way we have to share everything, when we are obviously built for greed. Well, I am. Apo just thinks he isn't.
"So this is how it will be," I tell my brother, "I know what Diya wants, and I will tell her how to do it."
"You know I'll stop you."
"Oh I know you will. In fact, I was hoping you would. It might be fun for you."
The way the old stories would have it, the only way we could love is to give up immortality and trap ourselves in this form. Become plain, live in hiding, and one day join the earth. This of course is not the way to convince Apo to love; he will never do it.
But no doubt he entertained the thought of fundamentally changing something. He has been told it will happen. Not unexpected at all.
"There are two ways this can work. I get what I want, and poor little smitten girl answers to me."
The other way, which is already in his head as I speak, is that he makes it so that the girl will not, ever, be subject to me.
He can just tell her not to love him. The threat to her will disappear.
I am counting on him not to do it.
I am counting on him to remember the story from long ago, that he will love, that he will sweep some woman from mortality and make her one of us, that he will rule with her. That for whatever reason he leaves himself vulnerable to this garbage, because he is easier to defeat when he has something to lose.
"Don't hurt her," is what he says, before he leaves.
And that is how a tide is turned.
***
My third visitor arrives hours later. She arrives at night, my time. I accept her in the backyard, where we have a swimming pool, and iron lawn furniture painted white. It's quite peaceful in a quaint way.
I am allowed in the backyard, also, despite being grounded.
My third visitor surprised my "mother" upon arrival, because she isn't in a mortal form that would normally be seen with me. She appears decades older, dark skin glowing, her dress made of a single stretch of purple woven fabric, draped and knotted around her body, held up without a stitch. Her long hair hangs down to her waist, is unwashed, but smells of flowers.
"You've met her before," I insist to Mom.
"I absolutely have not," she says.
"Yes you have," I say, not joking.
As we speak Kata is just standing there, smiling. Maybe the floral scent rekindles an old memory, but my mother retreats into the house and lets my visitor stay.
"Why are you never younger? It's fun being this age," I tell her.
Kata shrugs. She always looks like this when she's here. It's nothing like her real face, but she maintains this anyway.
We sit silently as we wait for another guest to arrive. We know she will.
***
We never grow up, is the problem. Diya is the youngest, perpetually, and cannot catch up. Will never catch up. I don't understand what she wants and why she wants them, but I'm past the point of caring.
I want the power of love.
Diya, the youngest, was given the gift of love, which turns out binds most of creation and destruction. She hasn't done a good job handling it, as history has shown. She disappeared and people hardly noticed.
Of all of us, she is also the most consumed by mortal matters. She just adores them, feels for them. She is always first to suggest leaving immortality for love, but I've not missed the few stupid enough to have taken her up on it.
I don't see Diya often, but I can guess what she is about. That she showed up at all means I'm on the right track.
My mother has stopped answering the door, so I let Diya in. She looks... It's like she wishes she were at someone else's door.
"I'll help you do it," I say, before she begins whining. "I know how you can do it."
"I don't need help remaining human," she retorts, as if insulted. "I know how that's done."
"That's not what I mean," I tell her.
When Bathala divided the world among his children, everyone got something. We can debate the value of things (I was surprised at how love mattered more as time passed for example) but in the end it is all about power. Nothing is of little value, when added up.
What keeps Diya from shedding the immortal life entirely is her only remaining tie to our father -- guilt. She can't give up immortality and its gift just yet, until she feels that she has done right by him.
I brought Kata over to tell her how it can be done.
"You're kidding me," Diya sounds skeptical, but the voice is hopeful enough.
"You never thought of asking for Kata's help before?"
Diya addresses Kata directly, "She has a habit of leaving some calls unanswered."
Kata rolls her eyes. "I am not like you. I don't need to prove anything to them."
Oh please. Children. "Diya, you see what can happen here."
I was hoping not to have to say it. I wanted her to see Kata, an agent of creation, there, and figure out that she can... create her solution.
"You don't mean to take it all?" she asks. "When I become human, you don't intend to just..."
It is tempting to her. She doesn't trust me, but Kata's presence makes her think I am not as greedy as she thought I would be. She doesn't want her gifts to be transferred upon her passing to any of us.
"I don't need it," I say. "What you want is for your precious mortals to get it all, right?"
"No offense," Diya tells me. "I just really don't trust you."
I'm not surprised.
"What you want to do is essentially creation of new gods. Not-quite gods," I say, unperturbed. "And if you're nice to Kata, perhaps she will let you have some."
"What do I need to do?"
Kata smiles. "Just dance, like everyone else does."
And she does.
All I'm doing is telling Diya what she wants to hear. Putting her through motions she expects to do. She thinks like they do now, the people who write about us. She thinks our stories are set in stone, and that she has rules to follow.
She wants to be human, take her place in humanity, and love like they do.
She doesn't think like Apo and I do. We make the rules.
When she and Kata are done with their gifted little creatures, I will wait, and watch, and take what is mine anyway. I want more.
It's been a most productive day.