There goes her odd stares again that gives me shivers.

Some part of me tells that she is nowhere near

being an Awok, but I still feel this desperation to elude her company. This high rise of tension in me
cannot be stopped— I even thought to just cut and run from it.

This grandmother is taking a step to me, giggling like what is there to be afraid of? She seemed to sense
the suspense I’ve been feeling all along. She’s twirling her hair like a madwoman would do, but the
judgment got the best of me. It was only her mannerism and she only giggled because I was too naïve,
but then she just suddenly started feeling emotional because she kept it all bottled up― “Why am I
always being feared, young boy? None of the claims are true yet the people are depending on the
immediate apprehension by someone who just loves making tales?”

I spent minutes and minutes just listening about her life story, until we already spent an hour because I
felt the need to accompany her especially she’s widowed and alone. We began to be fond of each other
despite the people opposing the idea. Years later now that I’m a grown up, I still carry the words she
told me, “Be there for yourself because no one else will.”.