Dream and redemption

I woke up screaming the other day.

In my dream, I was near the banks of a rampaging river, its water forming angry, hungry curlicues, gnawing, grabbing at everything that came near its path.

It was raining.

I chastised a child who came too near the edge of the water. She didn't listen, she was too curious.

Right before my eyes, the water leapt and grabbed the little girl, dragging her under its waves. The water was evil.

Horrified, I was hit with the finality of the loss. I can't live with this, I said. I can't forgive myself for not knowing how to swim.

"Iyong bata!" I screamed again, and then woke up.

I've been walking around the past two days with a noose around my neck.

My dreams often come true.

I began looking at every child intently, wondering if it is the one I failed to save.

Yesterday came my redemption, at the Moslem area in Quiapo, under the rain.

The siblings were barely three feet tall. They looked odd. They wore plastic bags on their heads, the black and yellow bag used to wrap pirated DVDs.

The older one, the brother, held his sister's hand and guided her across ditches, which was futile anyway because it was raining hard.

I watched them from a store's flimsy awning that offered very little protection from the rain. I marveled at how protective the brother was of his little sister, who's probably just three years old, guiding her inch by inch as they navigated the muddy street.

I was about to make a dash for the other side of the street where my friend was impatiently waiting for me when I saw the little girl fall.

It hurts to remember how much pain was painted on her brother's face. My core aches recalling his pained look at how he failed to protect his sister.

I rushed to the little girl, carried her, held her brother's hand and led them both to a store where there was dry space for them. I told them to stay there until the rain stopped. They looked stunned at how fast things happened.

My friend had a worried look on his face when I reached his side of the street, my white shirt soaked in the rain.

"Let's go," he barked, and we ran some more under the rain.

"None of them cared, and they were one of their own," he said when we got in my car.

I remembered the little girl and her watery grave in my dream this morning.

The curse is over.

I am forgiven.