White Rabbit

The street of C.M. Recto seems to be a little quiet. It’s Sunday, yet it’s strangely more silent than a typical Sunday in Davao. The crowd of San Pedro church resonates still. I can see churchgoers whisper and gossip, their voices reverberating, while walking their way to the bakery nearby, some parting ways going to Bolton street. This small crowd of ladies wearing flower dresses and men wearing light-colored polo seem to be unbothered, preoccupied with their own laughter. They look so clean as if their outfits, sprinkled with holy water; and left with traces of incense, were never stained of their sins. I thought they should be bothered—we all should be.

A week ago, the serenity of the street was troubled. It was horrendously disturbed by dried drips of unwelcomed blood, and backstairs gunshots at night. I could not believe how fast it was for them to cover one’s track, to bypass a life lost, almost like it never happened. We should be grieving; it is not the silence it deserves.

It was on a Sunday evening; two weeks ago, I was walking near the corners of Rizal street when I first saw this old woman in front of an already closed local bank, almost like a secluded spot. She was sitting on a small red chair created for a five-year-old child. Her back was curved like a protractor, and her legs were stretched flaunting her brown anklets of different beads and crosses. Another mini chair was in front of her with a huge black bag on top of it, heavy enough for a woman her age.

I stopped by, and for a moment I just plainly observed. It was surprising to see the old woman chewing her bubblegum like there’s a child residing in her. We stared at each other for seconds until I came back to my senses, so I asked her what’s inside her bag before she asked me why I was awkwardly standing there. The old woman only replied with her converging eyebrows and confused eyes, glinting towards me. I bended and spoke near her ear. She must have been a little deaf due to old age.

The old woman did not reply but rather untied the bag. She exposed a small container with dividers separating assorted candies of different sizes, some secured by colorful elastic bands. I sneaked a glance inside the bag expecting for other products, then she caught me, and projected a cunning smile saying it’s just another set, a stock. I returned to look at the candies in the container; they were small and classified by their colors of blue, white, green, and pink yet they didn't look appealing. But it would be rude to disregard her, so I pointed to the white ones with the resemblance of white rabbit, the only candy I could recognize. Her face transformed into a frown when I told her I would only avail one, so I took five pieces instead.

I reached my coins in my deepest pocket. I gave her a five-peso coin and she raised an eyebrow as if waiting for the remaining payment. I responded with curious eyes. She reiterated that the candies cost 10 pesos each. I glared at her, also raising an eyebrow, expecting for a change of utterance but she did not. I was aggravated. This old woman was unexpectedly taking advantage of her age to sell something this expensive. So I said I would return it, extending my left hand with the candies on my palm.

She responded, “You cannot resist an old woman, can you?”

My eyes widened in disbelief. I blurted out a rant in exchange. I continuously attempted to return it but she repeatedly declined. Then unexpectedly a man, maybe three years older than me, gave my dues—rusted coins into the palm of the old woman. I shivered and shrieked when she dragged me a little farther from the old woman. Then he whispered to avoid her at all costs because she is cursed. He then walked away in an instant, uninterested with my response.

I took a turn to Rizal street where my dormitory is located a few blocks away. I was still quivering caused by the encounter just a few minutes ago. The man’s warning echoed in the street. It seemed so quiet and strange. I have known Sundays in Davao to be so calm; some stores are closed, and jeepneys are not overwhelming the street. I think people reserve themselves to pray for their God. But today was different. Even the padyaks in front of the street were absent.

As I was walking, I looked at the candies in my purse, and took one out. I wondered in the back of my mind, why this small unappealing candy costs ten. What a waste it would be to ignore it and let it expire. With my trembling hands, I opened one. It was old but not past its time. For the brand I have known and grew up with, this was too soft to the extent that it sticks to its wrapper like a chewing gum.

The cold after-rain wind brushed through my already aroused pores as I inhaled the smell of the earth absorbing the traces of the rain. It felt like the wind was chasing me. The man’s warning echoed still; his voice was immensely loud. I could feel my skin dissolve into the wet pavements as well as the candy inside my then dry mouth. I hurried to my dormitory.

​When I arrived at my place, I immediately took my notes out of my bag to study for my upcoming exams and for another purpose of distracting myself from the novel encounter. I spent two hours reading Utilitarianism vs. Kantian Theories for my Ethics oral exam, using the handouts provided, and initiated to search for other sources of knowledge and examples. It was a thorough reading until I noticed something unusual. The letters and pictures started to move: some were rotating and some were glitching making my eyes then my head suffer in great affliction. I also noticed the pictures in black and white pages colored themselves with flowing primary colors. My eyes were almost watery, and reddish when I looked at the mirror as if I recklessly rubbed off dirt that had entered. I tried to distress myself so I lied to bed and closed my eyes for a minute then after a little rest, I would go to the pharmacy to buy some paracetamol. But my situation did not seem to allow me. In the absence of my vision, the pitch-black chamber of thoughts was occupied with phosphenes growing bigger and wider circles consuming the darkness; it was almost like I was in a warp, so overwhelming and blinding flashes of light streaks too bright even for closed eyes that I had to open it again.

My room, so small and narrow even for one person to occupy, is now filled with waves of light streaks with various color combinations. I was also disturbed by the strange movements of my things. They were stretching little by little until they were almost unrecognizable. One by one, the things inside my tiny place lost its identity growing into bigger metaphysical monsters like they have their souls. It stretched way beyond, and distorted leaving me in isolation—standing alone at its center spotlight. It got worse. Some transformed into weird unfamiliar faces, but I oddly felt like belonging to them. Soon they began to approach slowly to reach my peripheral vision, consuming my small space. It was like I was inside a dome of abstract art.

I woke up completely fine that night. I remembered thinking that I thought it was all a dream. The moment I realized last night’s encounter, I looked around my space to see if everything was back to normal. Everything was fine. But before I call it a day, something strange happened again but this time, it was another story.

The Ethics class I was studying the night of a peculiar experience was so nerve-wracking. I was so anxious for the index card-flipping recitation. My fingers were trembling, and I was partly sweating. The thought of being called to answer exhausts me. I needed distraction so I sought it. I doodled and hummed to myself while the professor started to question my classmates. The distraction was not enough, I examined my bag to look for other segway. To my surprise, I found the white rabbit candies I bought yesterday, so I took one.

This is where the series started. The peculiar encounter did happen for the second time. A few hours after I ate the candy, I was hallucinating. I endured the excruciating eyes and struggled to reach my dormitory. As I was walking, strings of bright colors were attached to the street wires of this third-world country; their sizes were gradually increasing, getting bigger and closer to me like an image zoomed for near-sighted eyes. They were following me even after I arrived. Then, I was again enclosed in this dome of metaphysics. With everything so stretched out, I saw those unfamiliar faces but clearer this time; some were purple, some were gold. I looked up and saw features of baroque architecture. There were also seraphic-like images dancing. Series of dazzling lights and haze came to me again in slow motion yet rapid shifts until it was really blinding. Then, an unknown voice would speak but it’s of a language only the chosen could understand. I almost wanted to kneel.

For five days I spent consuming those white rabbits, I felt something surreal: an escape and a wholesome experience. It still made my eyes and head suffer but I got used to it. I wanted it. I sought it. I craved for it. So I went again one night to that old woman to avail. In the back of my mind, I cackled and smirked when I remembered the man‘s warning. He said she was cursed, but for me she was chosen; she was magical.

When the old woman gave me the candies, she uttered, “The Lord is good right?” I looked at her and just…smiled.

My nights were spent to see the unknown. I sometimes saw myself surrounded by geometric patterns, sometimes in oriental, or of just plain randomness. I spent my nights kneeling while smiling, keeping my head held high. Every take of it allowed me to see the light, to hear that voice, to believe, to surrender my reality. I was not faithful and devoted, but one of those nights, I knew was also chosen. So I consumed and prayed, and prayed, and prayed until I stopped worshipping.

When the candies I bought for three weeks emptied, I went to look for the old woman to restock. But she was not there. I went there for three consecutive days. Without my daily intake, I started to feel vague, hanging and floating, lost in my thoughts, incomplete. I was constantly missing my state of a night routine; I was seeking my God. I uttered my prayer for those skipped nights for forgiveness because I was not able to see a glimpse of Him, and to devote myself. There were also times where I was not able to go to school; I was lacking sleep, just 2-3 hours per night, or sometimes I overslept. This affected my studies; I was failing two classes. My peers also noticed how drastic my weight loss was. From 58kgs, I went down to 50kgs instantly. I spent my nights in another dimension I created—those candies created, the world who belonged to the old woman. During those three weeks of white rabbit consumption, many things changed. And I only noticed them now, a week after she died.

The week I went to the usual spot she was, it was not her that I saw. Instead I saw the man who was there during the first encounter with the old woman. He looked at me with the usual stare of a blame, vision focused on his target. If I told someone I was scared, they would expect that I would avoid him and went the other way, but I didn’t. I stood after him and waited for him to speak. I wanted the candies so much to face a hint of danger. I knew he knew where the old woman’s whereabouts. I was tired of returning with no answers. I needed the answers as much as I needed the candies.

“Go home,” he said in a commanding manner.

I asked why and explained that I just want to buy the old woman’s candies.

“She’s dead. Killed in your footsteps. Blood was spilled in this street. At night when the constructions around work. Go home,” he reiterated.

I gulped. For a moment everything went silent—the silence of that strange Sunday in Davao.

I was about to ask again the reason behind her death but he interrupted with a warning: “You are the last person she shared her world with after me. Don’t go back here especially at night. The police are looking for her last encounters.”

“Why is she being—“

Then he asked, “For God’s sake if he’s even real or just the candies, do you even know who she is?”

I shook my head.

“She’s Lola Iyay,” he stopped for a blink,

and continued, “also known as the drug witch.”