Ezine Article

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

The Story of a Ghost (Fictional Short Story)

                                        Photo credit: Photo by Tony Detroit on Unsplash


The Story of a Ghost (Fictional Short Story)
By: Noel N. Villarosa
6 September 2018


In the late evening hours, I was seated at the firm surface of my bed. I can’t go back to sleep; in louver, I waited until the ultimate sunlit peeped through the slats. That moment I was in so much anguish that made me starry-eyed. In a flick, my thoughts desired to see the distance place where moments of loved ones dwell. Even if it was an intermission, I welcomed it all in alliance with my deep longing for the happy occurrence. My heart was in the clamor to see them all; my eyes sparkled with pleasures for all the fine senses of deep affection. While time held its breath, gave way to reunite me with the past.

It flew me back to the time where I was seated with other small children maybe aged 6 or 7 and where a lady teacher believed she was holding a stone whisperer will always know of whatever hidden mischievous events inside her classroom. Magic, then introduced into the innocent mind. There was even a garden wherein a dwarf statue was changing position from time to time. It was a blossoming superstitious belief that resided on every child.

Then there was strong nostalgic feeling that turned back those times where I spent playing outside the house; I was playing glass marble games by putting it into small holes just by pressing it between the index finger and the thumb while flicking it forward. I was a kid proficient at hitting my opponent’s marble even 4 to 5 feet away. As time moved freely, I was brought into the scene where I was playing the game of kick called “sipa” in the Filipino language--made of a washer with colorful threads or plastic straw attached to it. I was wearing a good pair of rubber shoes tossing the sipa upwards and catching it to avoid touching the ground; I had to count the required number of times in tossing the sipa, and then hitting it as far as it could, away from the opponent to let them chase and catch it by their foot. At the gyrating movement of the surrounding, I found myself holding a hand span of teks playing cards running away from other players who will be asking a share of some of my teks playing cards. At another scene, I was trying to rescue a captured teammate from another base and trying to secure also our base from an intruder in what was called “catch and own a corner” or “agawan base” game in the Filipino dialect. I have won and lost many games but with all of these; I have found new friends until the play mats have been folded and kept in the corner when childhood moments escaped while running uncomfortably to more mature roles.

My eyes winked and suddenly brought me back to high school days, where I was under the heat of the sun practicing military marching cadence; in those proving stamina; I was able to win discipline and endurance; all the nearby barber shops were too occupied to attend those cadets that need a haircut. I was a frequent visitor to the library where researching was done since there was no internet during those periods. I spent many times in reading and writing researched information and staying late in the evening reviewing notes. Time was so generous that showed events where I was clinging at the back of jeepney to bring me to school and sometimes walked briskly from house to school when traffic was worst during those times. The moment was splendid when it showed me bringing my lunch to the school and eating at the riverbank with trees in the background. I did not go far in finding a university; at the same location as the high school was where I attended my college. There was no escape from a tumultuous life in university life, that even in a more mature life, I was not spared from bullying where an English teacher made me stand up in the class alongside with a classmate and asked somebody to tell comparison between us. It brought humiliation where I found it hard to forget. Somewhere during the last school year, I got sick and decided to stop--to give way for minor stomach operation. It was that reason that I graduated in the span of 5 years and did not join the graduation rites.

As time slipped away, I was on a night shift job working in the bank, reconciling data and went home the next morning. Then I saw myself doing most of the time a clerical job, data controlling and data encoding, until I found a permanent job in the government which I served with sincerity and later got married and settled down. The most treasured part was seeing traveling with my wife and son together with other family members. I treasured the moments playing with my little son, discovered fun ways to talk to him even in a long distance communication. It was charming to see moments sharing a pleasurable life with my wife that can turn my life around with her loving and caring nature. Time expanded showing more details of my devoted mother for the untiring and loving care. Time traveled extending up to the most critical decision of my life--to work in foreign land embracing different customs and cultures. Strict compliance of the law had fortified and fine-tuned my personality. Every day, I resided in the virtual world, where communication had settled on the internet. The life outside the home country was like rituals: going to work, calling family, remitting money, and working again to earn a living. The sickness I tried to avoid that’s why I strived in healthy living.

Over time, back again inside the room, small and big details which in a quilt of patchwork would tell someone I have memorable memories. The years spent living in the foreign land was like being poured out from my safety dwelling that’s why big changes happened with my body: grey hairs prevailed, memory lapsed, unexplained body pain, stress, homesickness, and loneliness were altogether engendered my body to deteriorate. 

While the surrounding snoozed quietly in the evening ceasing the entertainment in how the crowd moves about where only a few won the highly coveted spot of life. I no longer own the time--the time to communicate with loved ones, no longer to play a role with the community, to wake up at dawn, no longer had to rush for work and jostled with the crowd for business appointment, no longer to worry the threat of suicide bombing in a crowded place. The sad thing was, I could not touch and feel anything around me, and I felt like a spirit got stuck in the earthly dimension and among the jinn’s world. Many thoughts flooded my mind. How could this be happening? I have still so much to do, am I now an earthbound ghost? Now, I feared more than anything else of being secluded with my loved ones; I don’t know how to accept that I was dead. I am still obliged to nurture my little child, to grow old with my wife, and see to it that they will be alright. Who will help me accept the last episode of my life? For the last time, I tried to hold my mobile phone to call my family but my hand just passed over the tangible thing. I saw the light pulling me; I needed to decide whether to pass into the light or remained stuck in the earthly dimension. I decided to remain earthbound spirit in search for someone who is sensitive to spirits and could help me understand about death.

I remained calm, cried sometimes, moved around and learned what a ghost could do. Then the rain came pouring down; someone knocked on the door, it was a child looking for shelter, tried everything to get his way inside my house until he found a way to get inside. Suddenly I met him and probably saw me passed by him. “Do you live here?” The child asked. The End. 


Submitted to Ezinearticles.com pending approval for publication.

The Author and the Orphan Boy (Fictional Short Story)

              Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/en/typewriter-desk-vintage-retro-old-2095754/

The Author and the Orphan Boy (Fictional Short Story)
By: Noel N. Villarosa
27 August 2018

The Beginning

Everyone hopes that someday they will be recognized because of their unique abilities, but sometimes opportunity is too elusive. Once they get to hold popularity, more times than not, they become fascinated by their humble success and reminded them of the people behind their triumph.

As a little boy, Nomer grew up emotionally and an introvert. It could be caused by incessant humiliation. Nomer can't do anything but to avoid imminent embarrassment. Nomer was very careful not to enter a conversation that would end up his being empty-headed. Nomer needed to be simple and tried not to be arrogant in any way. Nomer took refuge into writing poems and fictional stories as the humiliation piled up.

Nomer got interested in reading comic books; his interest grew into the realm of fantasy.  There was a wide range of comic book rental during those times and Nomer would save a few coins to rent his desired comic book. Slowly, Nomer gained confidence in writing his first poem and started joining online poetry contest which some of his works got placement. Nomer was moved into creating his own short story as he fondly narrated some of this to his family and close relatives. Writing had become an avocation for him to write an inspirational written piece.

The Strive

Everyone strives to receive accolades from relatives and friends. Nomer was one of those who needs little praise and approval. Only a few admired Nomer’s written works. All the poems, short stories, and articles he had written were compiled in his blog. Nomer was satisfied to see a few visitors when he monitored the flag counter of his blog.

The Attempt

Nomer had reached the point to offer his written works to a publishing company. He wrote his covering letter together with all other requirements and sent his book proposal. Nomer did not wait long for a response from the managing director of the company. Nomer received a rejection for his book proposal but he understood the company’s business core and very far from what Nomer had offered them--a fiction story. The company was publishing only a non-fiction inspirational and self-help books. Nomer never heard or received a reply again from the publishing company.

The Decision

Nomer was eager to share his written works and it popped out suddenly to his mind--what if he donates this to charity purpose. There are many orphanages in the country and many out of school youth needed reading materials to quench boredom inside the orphanage. There are some charitable institutions intended to serve the orphans with their dedicated volunteer teachers. Nomer started printing the manuscript of his book and created a design for his book cover, and Nomer's first thought upon finishing what needed to be done was “knowledge is sharing.” Nomer did not hesitate to donate his book to an orphanage. Nomer could only print one copy of his book as his budget was tight.  Nomer went to his chosen orphanage. He was happy giving the book to the orphanage administrator. The administrator was touched by Nomer’s kindness. The next day inside the library, it had displayed Nomer’s book.


The Arrival

It was mid-summer when all other orphans were outside removing weeds in the little garden when outside the entrance gate a little boy was staring and seemed was eager to join other kids. The administrator saw the little boy and approached him. The administrator took him inside and asked where he came from and where were his guardians. The little boy only bowed his head and cried. The little boy narrated what had happened to his parents and siblings. All family members have died during the heavy flash flood that stricken their place; the little boy could only remember he survived by clinging to a piece of wood that brought him to a nearby place. He became a vagrant and depended on someone else’s mercy. The administrator offered the little boy the orphanage to be his new home while the little boy did not refuse and accepted the offer.

The Curiosity

The little boy was to be known as Nimuel. Every day Nimuel would habitually visit the small library, nobody had coaxed him to read but he insisted on doing so. What caught Nimuel’s interest was the sole copy of the book donated by Nomer entitled “Collection of Thoughts,” in all it has 180 pages with three chapters: poem, short story, and an article. Nimuel read freely the book’s content, never got tired understanding the message and eventually learned it by heart. At the end of the day, Nimuel could able to recite the poems. At every moonlit, Nimuel would share the story he read to other orphans, and to the surprise of all, Nimuel could share information he read from the article section of the book. The book became Nimuel’s pillar to build his dreams. Nimuel showed the wisdom that would communicate the elders his eagerness to learn and that was the beginning of it all. Nimuel was sent to school being sponsored by the orphanage. Nimuel persistently occupied his life with straightforward knowledge, and at the deciding time, Nimuel graduated with honors. The orphanage was very proud of Nimuel that his struggle did not come in vain rather harvested good fruits. Nimuel wholeheartedly thanked the people behind the orphanage and revealed the secret behind his success aside the good upbringing of the people in the orphanage was the sole copy of the book “Collection of Thoughts,” Nimuel was keen to ask of who donated the book, the administrator unselfishly revealed that it was donated by Mr. Nomer Rovales. Nimuel dreamed of finding Mr. Nomer and needed to tell to Mr. Nomer of what the book had contributed to his success. Nimuel left the orphanage and started a new life outside what he called a real home for several years. Now Nimuel armed with skills and knowledge embarked on the corporate world where he built his huge wealth. One day while Nimuel was walking along the park, he was overwhelmed by two opposing feelings; happiness and keenness. Nimuel had humble beginnings and went on to become a wealthy man and that happiness also will help him to find Mr. Nomer Rovales.

The Meet-Up

The helical trail of everyday life was not easy for the once little boy named Nimuel and into manhood where fame and glorious life made him realize that emptiness still lingered in his heart. There was one goal that Nimuel would like to have a real impact on the lives of orphaned children and that was to give them education, by starting to build more libraries in the far-flung areas. Accruing over 10 years, Nimuel succeeded in building many libraries, it came like a montage of films put together for a good effect. Nimuel believed that education is the first step to success.

One day, Nimuel was invited to a public speaking engagement. The topic was about “Deliberate Parenting,” even though Nimuel did not have a genuine conversation since that tragedy happened to his parents, if he had to look for his parents caressing touch, it was altered by a good touch from the orphanage. It was a chance for Nimuel to meet the people he will likely be sharing success with. One of the audiences who attended that day was Nomer, seated at the far end of the domed stadium. Nimuel was confidently imparting his story across his audience and for the umpteenth time mentioned also about the book entitled “Collection of Thoughts.” Mr. Nomer, immediately knew that it was the book he donated solely to the orphanage. Immediately after the speech, Nimuel expressed his gratitude to Mr. Nomer Rovales, and right at that moment showed to his audience the book he had been keeping all the times -- the book who became his inspiration to do the right thing. Nimuel lectured also that in life there were three doors needed to be entered: One door full of pictures to choose with, the second door are roads to a trail, and the third door is a tree bearing fruits to pick. What to reap in the fruit-bearing tree comes from the roots of one’s perseverance. Nimuel had pledged that he will print more copies of Mr. Nomer’s book as he personally acknowledged the significance of the book. Mr. Nomer could not express the joy inside his heart; at long last, his written works had earned recognition. Mr. Nomer without any words walked out of the stadium without introducing himself to Nimuel. Mr. Nomer was happy that way even without showing himself to the crowd as Nimuel talked about the author.

In the years gone by, Mr. Nomer grew old along with the deterioration of his body. He confined himself in his room and used to read his draft copy of the book he donated to the orphanage, with tears in his eyes upon gazing in wonder at the cover of his book, someone knocked on his door, to his surprise it was none other than Nimuel at the doorstep holding a bound book with attractive design bearing the author’s name “Nomer Rovales.” Nimuel took Nomer’s hand and hugged him. The author’s face was in an unusual calmness when Nimuel touched his face, on closer approached; Nimuel realized that Nomer was dead. It was a sad reunion between the author and the once an orphan boy. The book had circulated all over the country and had become the best seller. Mr. Nomer’s pen and thoughts were resting now; all things have been in the desired place for God is really working to get the blessing back on all of us. Nomer was remembered as the author who made big changes with the life of an orphan boy. The End.



Submitted to Ezinearticles.com still pending approval for publication.

Thursday, April 26, 2018

Someone Who Believes

                                               Photo by Marina Shatskih from Pexels

Someone Who Believes
By: Noel N. Villarosa

If someone disbelieves you, it’s his will
Your choice matters more than anyone
Follow your desire like wind over the hill
When you get there, catch a glimpse of the sun

Earned your guests in a certain level of kindness
It is a decree of sure winning your fellow’s trust
Repair false service to free them from blindness
While I serve, know no bound, only pure and just

It’s not a lost for lacking someone’s harbor
Feel you just belong to a bigger shelter
For the heart of the mass will get you farther
Things will get better in moments spent together

Life is a battle that you don’t always compete
Against the stronger or influential one
But sooner or later the one who completes
Is the one who believes he/she can!

Along the search to find my political team
None other than an old friend showed me the way
To fulfill bigger step and claim what is in my dream
To talk about my name and cast one’s vote on Election Day

A poem for my sister running for Barangay Councilor
April 16, 2018
www.poetrysoup.com
Copyright © Noel Villarosa | Year Posted 2018

Lovely at Your Age

                                                Photo by PhotoMIX Ltd. from Pexels

Lovely at Your Age
By: Noel N. Villarosa

The thought of years feels remarkably well
Like a hopscotch scheme, tossing, and hopping
In a numbered square where your aim will dwell
In careful steps, everybody’s watching

Blessed age is not too young or too old
Candles on your birthday cake tell a tale
In your age, love and care have all years told
Another rendezvous, young heart prevails

For a moment feel free from your duties
Let me take you for a lovely dinner
Flowers and candle-lit room show beauties
For my wife, who’s lovelier than ever

Small notes that I always stick to the wall
April twenty-three is a birthday call


Birthday poem for my wife
April 23, 2018
www.poetrysoup.com
Copyright © Noel Villarosa | Year Posted 2018

Yard Birth Announcement (Prelude)

                                                    Photo by Ylanite Koppens from Pexels

Yard Birth Announcement (Prelude)
By: Noel N. Villarosa
April 5, 2018

Eleven years, yet that news unveiling
Still resounds happiness that fills our heart
You may write down your wish, still accepting
And out in the box new hope will start

Embrace this day as another journey
Stepping across the mown grass in a yard
Scent of fulfillment, day will stay early
You will see the rainbow as wishing card

The splendor of eleven years is heaping
Of what you are now is so fast to keep
Days of moving and nights of dreaming
The childish moments in a whirlwind’s sweep

Slowly branching out from our care
Where your fate will be, will follow our prayer


April 5, 2018
Copyright © Noel Villarosa | Year Posted 2018
www.poetrysoup.com