Chapter XLV: Daga (Land or Lot)
It starts with a call and ends with a storm yet not of thunder, but of inheritance.
Elric, the soft-spoken yet determined son of the late Mercy, decides that this is the year he will face his two uncles, Junior and Rogie. The old family matters have dragged long enough. The ancestral properties have turned into a battlefield of whispers and rumors, and Elric is tired of watching from the sidelines.
He stands before the cracked wooden gate of the old house in Guardino, holding his folder of property documents like a sword. Behind that gate are his uncles, the self-proclaimed kings of the lots, sitting in their bamboo chairs, sipping coffee as if they own the province itself.
Elric takes a deep breath. "Alright," he mutters, "let's do this."
He pushes open the gate. It creaks like a groaning ghost. Inside, Junior and Rogie look up at him with faces that can only be described as mildly annoyed authority.
"Well, if it isn't the young architect," Rogie says, raising an eyebrow. "What brings you here, Elric?"
"Uncle," Elric begins, trying to sound calm, "Immay nak man dituy makipatang maipagarup ti tawid. (I came to talk about the inheritance). Mamang's part, to be exact."
Junior sets his cup down slowly. "Tawid? (Inheritance?)" His voice drips with sarcasm. "Ken kaano pay nga naaddaan ta ti kakannakan? (And since when did we have nieces and nephews?)"
Rogie laughs, crossing his arms. "I didn't know we had children other than our own. Did you, Junior?"
Junior shrugs. "Maybe from another dimension."
Elric clenches his jaw but keeps his composure. "You both know Mamang had her share in the properties. Some of the lots scattered in Guardino were under her name. I just want to clarify what's rightfully ours."
Junior leans back, feigning deep thought. "Clarify? Oh, Elric, you make it sound so serious. The thing is that those papers, those lots, belonged to the elders. When they passed, everything went down to us. The first line."
"Meaning," Rogie adds, "you're second line. Or third. Or whatever line comes after 'no chance.'"
Elric takes a deep breath, trying not to let anger take over. "So you're saying none of us, none of Mercy's children or grandchildren, have any right at all?"
Junior smirks. "Wen ta bagi mi dayta. Bagik daytoy balay ken dagiti dadduma nga dagdaga! (Yes, because that's mine! The house is mine and same goes with the other lots!)"
But there's a flicker in his eyes and it's the flicker of a man who knows exactly what he's hiding.
Elric nods slowly. "Alright," he says. "Then I'll take this matter up properly."
"Properly?" Rogie repeats. "You mean paperwork, meetings, lawyers, all that?"
"Yes," Elric replies. "If I must."
The uncles exchange a glance. Their smirks fade. Junior leans forward slightly, his tone turning colder. "Careful, boy. Don't go digging where you might find snakes."
"I'm not afraid of snakes," Elric says evenly. "I've seen worse. Kabagiak isuda (I'm related to them)."
Rogie chokes on his coffee. "D-did you just call us snakes?"
Elric smiles. "If the skin fits."
From that day on, the air around the family feels heavier. Junior and Rogie start treating Elric like a dangerous outsider, whispering things behind his back, mocking him in family gatherings. But Elric doesn't back down. He collects documents, photographs, and old records and anything that proves that Mercy and his other uncles have property rights within the scattered lots of Guardino.
"Let them laugh," he tells his wife one evening. "The truth doesn't need approval."
Still, the uncles grow wary. Rogie warns Junior, "That boy's dangerous. He's calm, but he's not stupid. He knows things."
Junior waves it off, though he's secretly unsettled. "Let him try. I'll just ignore him. Uray man nu nakaadal, Junior nak met. (Even if he's educated, I'm still the Junior.)"
But ignoring Elric doesn't make him disappear, it only makes him stronger.
The year turns again. December arrives, and with it, the familiar sacred warmth. In Caluipat, Meric prepares the house for the annual visitation of Apo Ina Poonbato. The image comes once again to their home but this time accompanied by a vintage statue of the Holy Child Jesus of Prague, its ornate robes glistening under the soft afternoon sun.
It's been a tradition that outlasts every argument, every inheritance quarrel, every passing generation. Every last week of December, the image comes to rest in their home, and the whole neighborhood joins in prayer.
The house fills with people such devotees, and close friends. The scent of candles mixes with the aroma of home-cooked food. Children giggle outside while elders kneel inside, whispering their prayers in unison.
Meric stands beside Ben and Mark, hands clasped, eyes closed. She feels peace, that rare kind she only finds during Apo Ina's stay.
When the image is finally scheduled to be taken back, the devotees gather for the farewell prayers. The Adios Reina ti Langit hymn fills the air, soft and melancholic.
"Adios Reina ti Langit... (Goodbye, Queen of Heaven...)"
Voices blend, hearts synchronize, and the room fills with something that feels like divinity itself.
As Meric kneels, she feels something strange yet comforting, a gentle warmth at her back, like someone's resting a hand there. She opens her eyes slightly and glances around. No one's behind her. But the warmth remains. She closes her eyes again, and this time, she knows. It's Mercy.
In another realm, just beyond the mortal senses, Mercy kneels too. She's radiant, dressed in her favorite red blouse, smiling through tears of joy. Around her are other spirits, the faithful departed who still join the living during these sacred moments. There's Jane, and Zedric, the two angels beside her. She whispers the hymn, her voice echoing softly.
"Oh Inami Poonbato... our Mother most beloved..."
Her gaze turns toward Meric, and she smiles. "You've kept it alive, my child," she says gently. "You've kept her coming home."
For a moment, Mercy's spirit reaches out, touching Meric's shoulder with invisible warmth. Then, as the hymn fades, so does she, but the feeling of peace remains.
Time moves quickly. It's March 29, 2017, the second death anniversary of Mercy. The Caluipat house once again becomes a place of remembrance.
At exactly 3:00 PM, Meric, Mark, and Ben prepare the Palualo, the ritual of prayer for the departed. The house smells of candles and miki soup. Chairs line up along the walls, and relatives begin to arrive. Candy, Mercy's best-friend, arrives with her prayer booklet and rosary. "Alright, everyone," she announces, "let's begin."
The prayers echo softly, each word carrying the memory of Mercy's gentle strength. Even the children stay quiet, a miracle considering their usual chaos.
After the prayer, the laughter returns. The family gathers for merienda, eating steaming bowls of miki and slices of Bibingka and Cassava cake.
"Mommy, Mang would've loved this," Mark says, slurping noodles.
Meric smiles faintly. "She's probably scolding us from heaven for eating before washing our hands."
Ben chuckles. "That sounds like her."
They laugh together, a small yet healing sound.
A few days later, while Meric is tending to the store, Rico walks in. He looks serious, but his tone is gentle.
"Meric," he says, leaning on the counter, "I've been thinking."
"About what?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"About the lot," Rico replies. "The one beside the house, near the bodega where you keep the softdrink cases."
She blinks. "What about it?"
He smiles faintly. "I want you to build there."
"Build? As in—?"
"Bukod yo a balay, (Your own house,)" he says. "For you, Ben, and Mark. Your own home. You deserve it."
Meric stares at him, speechless for a moment. "Are you serious?"
"Completely," Rico nods. "The property's been divided among my children now. You can start anytime. Think of it as... a new beginning."
Ben, who overhears from the back, joins them with excitement. "Then I can start drafting the plans?"
"Of course," Rico says. "Just make sure your house doesn't block my avocado tree. Something is living in it."
Ben grins. "No promises."
Rico laughs and shakes his head. "Fine, but if my mangoes stop growing, I'm blaming your walls."
Meric laughs softly a genuine, hopeful laugh. It's been a long time since she's felt this light.
In the weeks that follow, Ben gets to work. Blueprints scatter across the dining table. He draws elevation plans, sketches structural foundations, and calculates measurements until midnight.
"See here," he explains one evening, pointing at the paper, "this section will be the living area. Open layout, modern touch."
Meric nods thoughtfully. "As long as the kitchen's big."
"Bigger than the store?" Ben teases.
"Almost."
Mark, listening from the couch, adds, "Can my room have a view of the road?"
Ben chuckles. "We'll see. As long as you promise to study."
Mark grins. "No promises."
The nights are filled with the sound of pencils scratching, rulers sliding, and dreams slowly taking shape.
Months pass. It's May 11, and Jonn's birthday. The whole family gathers at the resort near the zoo, just a few kilometers away. The pool water sparkles under the sun, laughter echoes across the open space, and the smell of grilled food lingers in the air.
Elric arrives with his wife and sons, Aldric and Adrion. Everyone exchanges greetings, splashes into the pool, and for a while, everything feels peaceful like the old days.
Until the topic of land comes up.
While sitting by the pool's edge, Eric asks Rico casually, "So, about the lot in Caluipat, how's the division going?"
Rico, always straightforward, replies, "Well, since space is tight, you might not have a part there anymore."
Elric freezes. "Anya? (What?)"
"I mean," Rico continues, "you already have several lots across the first district, Metro Hermosa, the coast side, the one near the coop... you're not exactly short of land."
Elric frowns. "Haan nga didiay ti punto, Pader. (That's not the point, Father.)"
Rico crosses his arms. "Then what is the point? Fairness? I've divided everything the best I could."
The conversation grows heated. Voices rise. The cousins nearby glance over, pretending not to listen but absolutely listening.
Ben whispers to Meric, "Here we go again."
Meric sighs. "It's not a family gathering until someone argues about property."
The argument eventually fizzles out after several minutes of back-and-forth reasoning. In the end, Elric concedes, though reluctantly.
"Fine," he says. "You're right. I already have enough."
Rico pats him on the shoulder. "Good. Then let's eat."
And just like that, the tension dissolves into laughter again. The family enjoys the rest of the day, splashing, eating, and teasing one another.
As the sun sets, Meric watches the sky turn golden. She thinks about everything such as the fights, the prayers, the dreams, the slow building of new homes and new beginnings.
Even with all the chaos, there's something sacred about family of its messiness, its contradictions, its relentless love.
That night, back home in Caluipat, Meric walks outside. The air smells of earth and mango blossoms. She looks toward the empty space beside the house, her future home's foundation.
Ben steps beside her, holding the rolled blueprint under his arm.
"Ready to build?" he asks.
Meric smiles. "We've already started."
In the distance, the faint chime of a church bell rings, a gentle reminder that time moves on, people change, and even amid the greed and the grief, life continues to bloom.
And somewhere beyond the veil, Mercy watches them proud, peaceful, and smiling.