Chapter XXXVII: Conching, Part 1
The night feels heavy and still. After a long day of errands, Meric lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint sound of crickets hums outside, and the ticking of the clock grows louder with every second. Her eyelids eventually grow heavy, and she drifts into sleep.
In her dream, she finds herself standing in an empty white space—no walls, no ceiling, just an endless blankness. But in her hands, she clutches two very specific things: a pair of Islander slippers, brand-new with the straps still shining, and a Chickenjoy bucket from Jollibee, warm and fragrant as if it had just come from the counter.
She looks up, confused, and in front of her stands Conching. The old woman, familiar and gentle, looks at Meric with calm eyes. She raises one hand and waves slowly, her face carrying a mixture of peace and farewell.
"Lelang Conching? (Grandma Conching?)" Meric whispers.
But Conching doesn't reply. Instead, a red car appears behind her, the door opening as though inviting her inside. Without words, Conching turns, steps into the car, and is driven away until she disappears completely from sight.
Meric jolts awake, heart pounding. The dream lingers with startling clarity—the slippers, the Chickenjoy, the red car, and Conching's wave goodbye.
At breakfast, Meric sits quietly at the table, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. Rico notices her silence and asks, "Why do you look so pale, Meric?"
She sets down her spoon. "Pang, I had a dream last night."
"What kind of dream, Manang?" Jonn asks, raising his brows.
Meric explains everything in detail—the slippers, the Chickenjoy bucket, the sudden appearance of Conching, and the red car that took her away. Her voice trembles slightly as she finishes.
Rico frowns. "Strange. What could that mean?"
Jonn shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe it just means you're hungry and you need new slippers."
Meric glares at him, half annoyed, half amused. "It didn't feel like that kind of dream, Jonn. It felt... important."
Rico sighs. "Well, sometimes dreams are just dreams. Don't think too much about it."
But Meric can't shake the unease.
Days roll by. The dream slips to the back of their minds as life goes on. Work, errands, and routines swallow their attention. By the time the second week of July arrives, the family is already busy preparing for another important day.
It is almost July 21—Mercy's birthday.
This year would have marked her 60th birthday. For many, it would have been a milestone celebration with family, food, and laughter. But Mercy is gone, and instead, the family faces the painful reality of celebrating her first birthday in heaven.
On the day before the celebration, Meric and Jonn decide to shop for food at the Hermosa Public Market. They ride Jonn's old green motorcycle, weaving through the traffic of tricycles, jeepneys, and vendors shouting their goods.
"Hold on tight," Jonn calls as they speed past a group of goats wandering by the road.
"Just don't get us killed before Mama's birthday," Meric snaps, gripping his shoulders tightly.
At the market, the smell of fresh fish, dried squid, spices, and vegetables fills the air. The siblings move from stall to stall, gathering ingredients. Meric insists they should also buy something special to mark the occasion.
"Let's get Chickenjoy," she suggests. "It was Mama's favorite whenever we couldn't cook."
So they head to Jollibee Market, standing in line at the crowded counter. As they wait, Meric notices Jonn's slippers—worn out, the straps frayed and almost snapping.
"Jonn," she says, pointing at his feet, "those slippers are practically dead. People can hear them slap the floor from a mile away."
Jonn smirks. "They're still useful. They just look... experienced."
Meric rolls her eyes. "Experienced? They're begging to retire. Come on."
Before ordering, she drags him to Footstep, the slipper shop conveniently located in the same building. They browse through stacks of sandals and slippers until Meric picks out a sturdy pair of Islander slippers.
"There. No more excuses," she says, handing them to the cashier.
Jonn chuckles. "Fine, fine. But you owe me fries for this humiliation."
"Deal," Meric replies with a small smile.
With the slippers purchased, they return to Jollibee and finally buy the Chickenjoy bucket. Meric carries it proudly, holding also the bag with Jonn's new slippers. The scent of fried chicken wafts around them as they head home.
As Meric descends the slope toward their gate, balancing the Chickenjoy and slippers, Rico meets them at the entrance. His face is grave.
"What happened?" Meric asks quickly.
Rico takes a deep breath. "Conching... she has died."
The words hit Meric like a punch to the chest. She nearly drops the bucket as her knees weaken. Her dream floods back into her mind—Conching waving goodbye, the slippers, the Chickenjoy, the red car. Tears well in her eyes.
"No... no, it can't be," she whispers.
Rico nods sadly. "I just got the call."
As the silence settles, Rico begins to recall the story of Conching—how she entered their lives and became so deeply entwined in their family's history.
He remembers himself as a four-year-old boy when a young lady came to work for the Uy family. Her name was Consuelo Quicho, but everyone called her Conching. She was a native of Fuerte, Pardas.
After a short period of time, Rico's stepfather Pantaleon Uy had just died of lung disease, leaving Regina (Tinang), his stepmother, overwhelmed. Conching stepped in, helping with the chores and easing the burdens of the household. She became known as "Tinang's assistant," a reliable and gentle presence.
When Mercy later moved into the house at Calle Crisostomo, Conching quickly became like both a mother and sister to her. She was there when Elric and Meric were born, acting as a secondary mother to them.
After Tinang's death, Conching would still appear now and then, helping the family whenever she could. She never abandoned them completely.
As years passed, Conching's relationships with the family members grew complicated. She didn't particularly trust Elric's wife, sensing something off about her. But she had a warm connection with Ben, Meric's husband. She admired how Ben cared deeply for Meric's health and well-being. In her eyes, he was a good man—a reliable husband and caretaker.
Conching never married herself. She remained a virgin all her life, carrying the scars of her childhood during World War II. She had witnessed the horrors—neighbors and playmates harassed by Japanese soldiers. She herself narrowly escaped such a fate, and perhaps that shaped her choice never to give herself to anyone.
Her family ties were scattered, but one grandnephew stood out: Cristobal Pablico, an engineer working in London. Despite her simple life, she was proud of his achievements.
Over the years, Conching continued to help in small ways. Sometimes she would visit Meric's household at Caluipat, bringing gifts—Bulong Unas fish (largehead hairtail), chocolates, or even small amounts of money.
Rico's voice falters as he finishes recounting her story.
Meric, in her mind, also remembers something that her father doesn't know.
Before Ben left for work abroad, the couple had visited Conching at Fuerte. Meric remembers how she had given Ben money directly, insisting that Meric should not lay a hand on it. It was her quiet way of entrusting him with responsibility.
Meric's flashback ends.
"The news came from Cristobal," he explains. "He just returned from London for vacation. He's on his way to the hospital morgue now to see Manang Conching's body."
Meric clutches the bag of slippers and the Chickenjoy bucket tighter. The dream had not been random—it had been a farewell. Her tears stream freely now as she whispers, "She already told me goodbye."
The room falls silent, heavy with grief, but also with the undeniable truth that dreams sometimes carry messages beyond the ordinary.