BEFORE THE PLAGUE
May 25th, 0040
There have been recent talks of a Plague. The lovely, brown-skinned, loud-mouthed people of rural Batangas talk about it unceasingly in the market halls and around the beach. They overpower the pop songs of summer radio stations with their harsh Tagalog and dialects relentlessly speculating about a Plague that is half a world away from the Philippines.
My cousin's friend's tita suffered from the Plague. She died before she could reach the hospital!
I've heard that the Plague is a disease manufactured by Russia!
Gago. I don't think Russia would ever do that. America, though, might be arrogant enough to start an apocalypse.
Mostly, teenagers my age speculate like this, in hushed Batangueño and whispered Tagalog. They are often reprimanded by their titas, titos, lolas, and lolos, or whichever sensible yet anxious adult has heard them first.
Shut up, Anak. Do not make me worried.
Pray, Hijo. Pray to God. Jusko, everything will be fine.
On my end, a mystery Russian-created or Devil-incarnated plague sweeping most of Europe does not cause me any particular anxiety. Perhaps the unhygienic habits of modern white people have finally caught up to them. After all, don't most plagues start in Europe anyway? (White people don't know how to wash their hands, and they always smell like spoilt milk.) (I get that my Mom is white, but...) (You know what, I won't complete that thought.)
My family is safe in America. I continue to pursue my studies by the coast of Batangas, even when I should be preparing for my colleges in an Ivy League, as is my greatest ambition. Tatay insisted on sending me to his hometown in Batangas so that I could rediscover my roots. But to be honest, this trip feels less like exploring my roots and more of piecing together my Tatay's.
It feels like I am nothing but a flicker of Tatay's shadow in this country. The townsfolk know me as Tatay's only son, as his smart son, as his bunso, as nothing but a reflection of my Tatay's greatness. How else could Tatay reach America? How else could he become a marine biologist in the United States with an above average income?
They know what to make of my father, but they don't know what to think of me.
I suppose I'd enjoy staying here more if one of my family members came with me. Hell, I'd even like if it my Ate Andrea flew with me here, or maybe even my foul-smelling Mom. (Don't tell her I said that.)
But.
It's just me.
In the lonely, little world of Batangas.
It's just me with Lolo Jesse and Lola Amor. I will study in a tiny public school, I will live in a house that overlooks the sea, I will eat fish and vegetables, and I will continue to do so until my parents send me back to San Francisco.
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YOU ARE READING
The Song You Play at the End of the World
Teen FictionIn the year 0045, there are three known facts about the world. 1. It is ending. 2. The plague has made its inhabitants lonely. 3. And there is barely anything left of human civilization. On the coast of Batangas, Philippines, two boys named Jaeson a...
