My sister was busy preparing for a party when I arrived home. She had on tight-fitting jeans and a pair of three-inched sandals. She was no longer the baby-sister I used to know. She was no longer a child. I smiled to myself, combing her hair as I remembered what we did some years ago. We were little children then…
The sun was already down and we were getting tired of the usual games we play. Mama was so busy downstairs cleaning the kitchen and preparing dinner. An older cousin came carrying an empty can of biscuits. It was red and attractive. An idea suddenly popped into my mischievous little head. I whispered something in my sister’s ear. And wouldn’t you know! She clapped her hands in delight. Why? It was nothing. I just talked her into running away! I said we would pretend to run away, just like in the movies. One-by-one we placed our favorite toys into the red can and stuffed some biscuits too. We were covering our mouths and laughing so hard as we tiptoed quietly outside the house. We planned just to walk around the town, not too far away so we won’t get lost. We did that just so we would know how running away from home feels. How innocent we really had been that time. People were watching us on the street. It was a funny sight, can swaying in my hands and my little sister, then three years old, tugging along. It was dark and we were trudging our way down the street. We turned at almost every corner until we found ourselves already in the highway. My sister was already tugging at my skirt and asking, “Ate, I’m hungry. Can we go home?” She had her right thumb on her mouth when she said that, while a white cloth was hanging on her small plump hands. I stopped to ask her what she thinks mama would do if we would not go home. She mumbled something that wasn’t the slightest bit clear because her eyelashes were slowly dropping. I grumbled and threatened to leave her if she was thinking of sleeping in the middle of the street. I don’t know how but the next thing that happened, I was already getting hold of her hand and pulling a sleepy three-year old behind me. I saw a familiar house at one corner and smiled. We were nearly home. Mama was at the door when we arrived. She said dinner was ready and asked were we’d been. I smiled sheepishly and told her what we’ve done. She looked at both of us with those gentle, wide and wise eyes then laughed out loud. She was rather amused that such innocent faces would venture into what they would like to find out. She didn’t know where we would end up, she said, had we not found our way back.
It happened ten years ago. I’m in college now and I’ve been through ups and downs one could ever take. The twists and the turns had once caused me to swerve my way. Still the child in me never fails to remind me of home.
Everytime I remember that one twilight when we played “run- away-from-home”, it gives me something to ponder, something that will always remind me this: that wherever I go, whatever path I choose to take, in the long run I would still find myself back to the road that leads me the way home. As for my sister, wherever those sandals bring her today or tomorrow, I’m sure she’d still go knocking on our door anytime.