The Stranger

THE evening deepened and the wind suddenly turned colder and fiercer. It was the middle of July, and in this side of the world, that meant it is the season of storms.

I was walking along the streets of old Manila. The inclement weather left the sidewalks wet and the graffiti walls glistening from the streetlights. Synthetic music and a drunken man’s voice spilled from an open door of the nearest karaoke bar, disjointed sounds adding to the noise of the freeway. Rumbling cars and noisy tricycles sped up the streets with their headlights flashing like spotlights. I turned into a corner.

A man furiously fanned the glowing coals on a grill, taking endless orders from one customer to the next. The smell of barbeque and grilled chicken intestines made my stomach grumble. I suddenly remembered that I had not eaten since lunch break. No matter. Once I get home, my mother and I would have dinner together. I also thought that it was kind of strange that she had not yet called tonight. She must be busy at the moment. After dinner, I still must do my homework and study for a quiz tomorrow. I sighed and turned into another corner.

Other students from the university hurried past me to catch the last train of the day. The weak orange light of the streetlamp above me flashed intermittently. On my right was a 24-hour eatery with only one customer. The stranger looked up from his food of eggs, hotdogs and fried rice, and stared at me with bloodshot eyes. I looked away and walked a little faster, turning into another corner.

Even after all this time, the modern cultural scenes on the streets of Manila are still strange for me. It might be because I grew up in the province, where the people’s day begins before dawn and starts to die down when dusk barely began to settle in. In most ways, life was simpler, but it wasn’t any easier. It had its own kind of hardship, and not everybody is suited to deal with it. I wasn’t suited to deal with it. I felt like a stranger in my own hometown, and now, I felt like a stranger in my chosen home.

The memories of my provincial life were a stark contrast to the urban scene I was walking in. I pulled out from my reminiscing and turned into another corner.

Now, this street was familiar, but it still gave me chills that didn’t have anything to do with the unusually cold weather. I have traversed along its dark walls and broken road for three years now since I enrolled in the University, and I knew it and the stinking smell of its gutters like the back of my hand. That might be so, but the people who lived and dwelled here couldn’t be more unfamiliar to me. No one interacted with me, and that suited me just fine. They remained strangers to me, and I to them. I continued walking and turned to another corner.

I suddenly jumped back and let out a quick scream of surprise. A teenage boy on a bicycle suddenly appeared out of the darkness. He pedaled away like nothing happened and even gave a hearty laugh while he sped up the street. Before I could catch my breath, he was already gone.

I collected myself and continued walking. The street ahead of me was even darker than the last one I was in. When my eyes adjusted, I saw that there were no open stores, the doors and windows were closed tight shut, and no other soul walked with me. It started to drizzle.

A dog barked at a distance from a closed gate. It was so different from the other streets I just came from that I started to wonder about the hour. I took out my phone and looked at the time on the

screen: 10:08 p.m. That’sstrange, I thought. Itwasn’t THAT late. Did I turn into the wrong corner?

I put my phone back into my pocket, and suddenly, another strange thing happened.

A wet and foul-smelling cloth was stuffed aggressively into my mouth and a cold, sharp object was being jabbed at my right side. Strong, sweaty arms wrapped around my neck and torso as I struggle to get away. The grip of the stranger only grew tighter and he dug the knife deeper on my side. I began to panic as I realized what was happening. “Tu mi gilkasak aka pig las !‘ W ag mon gsubuk an. Sasaksakinkita!” a man’s voice whispered angrily in my left ear. His breath was hot, and it reeked of cheap beer and, strangely, eggs. His stubble scratched my cheeks as I tried to get away. “Ku ya ,‘ wag po. W ala po

akong mabibigay sa’yo. Wala akong pera!”

“Akin na‘ yang cellphone mo. Tsaka‘yung wallet mo.Bilis!”

I quickly emptied my pockets of the things he asked for. I was so terrified that my hands were shaking, and I had trouble getting my wallet out from my back pocket. He rudely took the items and he started to loosen his grip on me. I took this chance to get away from the stranger. I shook him off and he accidentally dropped my wallet and phone to the ground. He hurriedly picked it up and looked my way. The stranger was the man from the eatery. I only had a fleeting moment to process this before I started backing away. For a brief second, my legs seemed unresponsive because of the shock. I started to scramble. I desperately wanted to run to the opposite side. I only thought of getting as far away from the stranger as possible. Before I could go any further, I was yanked back by the hook on my bag and the cold, sharp knife pierced my side.

I didn’t feel it at first. I guess it’s the adrenaline and the strangeness of what was happening. All my life, I never really thought I would be in this kind of situation. The man roughly pushed me down, and in the process, took out the six-inch knife from my body. The dog in the distance started barking frantically and a light was turned on from inside of the house. Its owner’s coming outside.

My assaulter, in his panic, dropped my phone from his pocket as he tried to stuff the bloody knife away from sight. The owner of the dog came outside and barked back at her pet to quiet down. Her neighbor came outside from his own house, took out a cigarette and lighted its tip. He started walking towards our way. The stranger casually walked down the street and disappeared into a corner. As I lay on the wet street with the smell of rotting garbage and blood in my nose, I thought of how amazing it was to me that he could casually walk away without showing any sign of panic or distress. How strange.

From a distance, my phone suddenly lit up and started to ring. I tried to reach for it, but my arms seemed to be too weak and my vision was beginning to blur. I crawled laboriously towards it, but it seemed to be getting farther and farther away from me. The dogs barking grew more hysterical and incessant. No one seemed to have noticed me yet. Strange.

My phone kept ringing, and I kept struggling to get it. Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming towards me. My first thought was that the stranger came back to get my phone. But I smelled the cigarette coming from him, and it was the man who just came out of his house.

“Huy,bata, ano’ ng nangyari sayo?Tulong. Tulong! Mga kapitbahay, tulong!”

His voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well. It was far and distorted to my ears, even though he was right beside me. He kept shouting for help and more lights turned on and they lit up the street. The drizzle turned into a light shower. My wound was hurting so bad that I started to see white.

My phone stopped ringing, and I still couldn’t reach it. A strange feeling came to me, and it felt like I’m on a carnival ride that’s going too fast. I was feeling dizzier and my vision’s too weird for me to make sense out of it. The pain on my side was suddenly disappearing. I started to lose consciousness.

My last thoughts on that evening were the stranger and my mother. I wondered what would have — and would not have — happened if he didn’t choose me as his victim that night; if I hadn’t made eye contact with him earlier while passing by the eatery. My mother would be wondering why I hadn’t answered her call or where I was. I always answered her calls, and it will be strange for her why didn’t. Their faces burned on my mind. And what about that dinner I was looking forward to? Man, I’m so hungry…

More people came towards our direction and a crowd formed around me. Someone turned me around. I heard the strangers whispered to each other:

“Sino siya?”Kawawa naman.” “Sino nanaman gumawa nito?” “Baka nat okhang.” “May nabiktima nanaman.” “Sino kaya mga magulang nito?”

I looked up at the dark, distant sky. The rain poured heavier and it washed away the blood on my side and the tears on my face. The cold evening darkened, as strange as ever. I saw nothing while my eyes were wide open.

The storm in the middle of July continued to pour down.

The stranger’s already gone.

He turned into the wrong corner.

Thisistheseventhofeightessays/storieswrittenby PUPjournalismstudentsfortheirIntercultural/Intercommunication “the feeling of being a stranger.”