I awoke with the sounds of it.
The door was being rattled, and the knob was shaking violently. The panes are getting hammered it seems by swooshing cloaked hands.
I looked around to see where I was. From the window I could see the giant tree across my window swaying hard on its sides, like some unseen forces at play are pushing and pulling it apart, working to put its majestic charm on its knees.
The street lights are dancing in the middle of the road, suspended by a small chain of loose wires, all red lights flashing as if to warn me of an impending emergency. A few cars managed to stay away from flying debris.
A mighty wind had swept this corner of the hill, swirling around the intersection that almost put the traffic into a halt. The wind was almost a relief. At past nine in the evening, it was surprisingly hot. But even after the powerful breeze that came my way, it was still warm and dry.
I moved from one side to the next and watch the streets below. With a nonchalant interest I just stood there, my eyes not blinking but not really looking. I was watching the scene but am not really seeing anything.
Never blinking, my mind was just wandering, my brain not yet shutting down but simply hibernating.
I hear another light breeze came rushing past my sideburns. Riveting, discomforting, alarming. The little wave of sound it produces resonates like a tinkering of a silver plated bowl until it howls like a thousand horns.
I remember the hurricanes of my childhood. Back in the homeland we call it typhoons. Since the country is archipelagic, we are not unfamiliar with its imminent sound. And as soon as we hear one coming our way, my father would secure the whole family indoors, and our wooden huts to the ground.
And we will all pray that this one, as like the rest, will come to pass.
It’s all but gone now… the once diminutive and crammed-full wooden huts were now replaced by empty pillars of mixed stones, sand and concrete. My dad have long gone, two of my brothers have already joined him to wherever their consciousness have brought them. What remains of our big family are scattered all across three continents and thus, we seldom see each other anymore.
Being the youngest, I love to see all my remaining brothers and sisters and our mom in but one roof again. Despite all the inconveniences associated with being the youngest in a family of ten –one being that no matter what you did or will do, for them, you will always be their precious little one– I still wish for us to be complete again.
For me it would be more than just reunification, but a personal homecoming. It would be like a whole cycle had been presented and completed. In life where it runs in circular motion, there is no way of moving forward but going back to where you came from.
The wind had come to pass. The wet and deserted street below had been filled with leaves the color of strawberries and peaches and lime. The water flowing on the roadside provide a few more glowing colors of a miniature rainbow.
Gone is the familiar ravaging noise of a mighty wind. I can only hear drops of little water that were now remnants of a distant past. It continues to flow to the small channels; most probably to complete its own cycle all the way back to the blue oceans and then come up again as raindrops.
Just as the mighty wind that forces the water to complete its own course, a small nudge from a familiar mortal breeze might one day force me to complete my own.
An insignificant soul to a significant whole.