Halloween is just around the corner yet it isn't new for me. Probably because everyday is Halloween when you're in college. Terror professors and “Singko” will scare you more than ghosts and creepy crawlies. They say “Be scared of the living, not the dead,” yet I couldn't help but tremble in fear every time I overhear it. I hear voices and I know it's true. Some say that I've gone crazy but deep down, I know I'm not and that what I’ve heard is real.
I started hearing voices when I was in my senior high school days. We were shooting in a cemetery for our group report on history when I decided to go for a walk since it is our break. My feet brought me to the place where no one was around, and as I walked around there was one Mausoleum that took my attention. I don't know why but my eyes got fixated on the building that is reserved for a family of politicians in our province. Suddenly, the wind blew so hard that it sent chills down my spine. And as the cold wind grazed my skin, voices came out of nowhere. Voices that are full of rage and misery.
"Help us! Remove these chains!"
"No! I beg you, spare my life!"
"I aim for freedom yet death is what I got"
"Not my dad! Take me instead, I'll do everything!"
Even if I cover my ears and sing loudly, the madness from their voices won’t stop and it bothers me because those voices still linger. It gives me chills all the same, it breaks my heart. Voices that speak untold stories, secrets that've been concealed with them. It’s a bit terrifying how these people died through the hands of those in power – the abused one and took advantage of.
There is a story I will never forget. She was raped, tortured, and decapitated. A writer, unafraid of telling the truth and her raw stance on issues. She inspired people to become vigilant and be more aware of social injustice. They tried to silence her, bribing her to cut off her probity but she declined. So they silenced her… forever. It’s been said that people still see her lurking around the place where they found her, still looking for her missing head. She was crying for justice and freedom because her perpetrators have never been caught, CASE CLOSED just like how they silenced her.
Until today, I can still hear voices. But unlike before, I am able to see them. Those stories terrified me back then, but now? No. I love hearing stories no one tries to listen to. I love listening to the voice of those who are abused, those who fight for their rights, those who are weak and powerless, and those who are weary. Listen to everyone but pick out who you listen to. Listen but be receptive.
I think I’m running late. It’s time for me to listen to their stories. I checked my bag to see if I forgot something. Ah yes! my head. Where could it possibly be? Have you seen it?
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