Chapter XXXIX: Raniag (Brightness)
A month passes by after Conching's burial, and though life continues at Caluipat, a strange emptiness hangs over the house. The rhythm of opening the Bensmert Store every morning, arranging the shelves of canned goods and laundry powders, and keeping track of sales feels the same, but in the quiet moments, Meric still expects Conching's familiar laugh or gentle voice telling her to eat.
It is on one of these nights, in the heat of August, that Meric dreams again.
She finds herself standing on a spacious, round terrace. The floor is made of smooth marble, white with streaks of gold, and it seems to stretch endlessly under the morning sun. The air smells sweet, like sampaguita blossoms carried by the breeze.
In front of her stands Conching. But this Conching is not the frail woman in a wheelchair at the hospital, nor the peaceful figure lying in a coffin. No—this is Conching as Meric had never seen her before: wearing a flowing white dress, her hair loose but shining, her face youthful and full of energy. Her steps are light, her back straight, her laughter ringing like wind chimes.
"Meric," Conching says, her voice strong. "Umayka, adda ipakitak kenka. (Come, I want to show you something.)"
Meric feels her heart race. "Lelang....Lelang Conching... is that really you?"
But instead of answering directly, Conching turns and walks toward a wide staircase made of crystal steps. Without hesitation, she climbs, her feet barely making a sound. She ascends gracefully, as though walking up air itself.
Meric hurries to follow. "Wait for me!" she calls, clutching the hem of her dress as she runs up after her. The stairs seem endless, yet Meric does not feel tired. In fact, there is a lightness in her body, a freedom she cannot explain.
When she finally reaches Conching, the woman is smiling, radiant. And in that instant, Meric realizes what the dream means: Conching is in a good place now, whole and free, her soul no longer bound by pain or frailty.
The terrace, the staircase, the white dress—it is all a message of peace.
Meric tries to speak, but the dream fades, and she wakes up with tears in her eyes.
The following morning, she goes about her chores with a renewed sense of calm. She prepares to open the Bensmert Store, sweeping the front yard and arranging the jars of candies for the schoolchildren who always stop by before class.
By almost mid-day, while she is restocking soft drinks in the refrigerator, something flutters past her ear. Startled, she turns to see a large brown butterfly gliding gracefully into the store.
"Mark!" she calls.
Her son comes running from the back. "What is it, Mommy? Adda bao manen? (A mouse again?)"
"Haan, haan nga bao balong. (No, Not a mouse, son.) Look." She points to the butterfly.
The creature drifts lazily into the lower room of the house, then flutters toward the sala, and finally lands in the garden. Meric and Mark follow it, curious. When it stops on a leafy plant, they both notice something peculiar: the patterns on its wings, dark against the brown, seem to form the outline of a face.
Mark squints. "It looks like... it's staring at us."
Meric feels a shiver, but also warmth. "Maybe it's a sign," she whispers.
They do not say it aloud, but both of them know what they are thinking—perhaps this is Mamang, visiting, reminding them that she is still with them.
A week later, just after Meric's birthday, another butterfly appears in their garden. This one is black and white, its wings bold and striking as it dances among the flowers.
Mark nudges her. "Two butterflies now, Mommy. One brown, one black and white."
Meric smiles faintly, her eyes moist. "Yes. Maybe one is Mamang... and the other is your Lelang Conching."
They watch the butterfly hover for a while before it disappears into the sky.
As September arrives, Hermosa prepares for its World Heritage Cities Solidarity Festival. The streets buzz with excitement, banners are strung across lampposts, and loudspeakers blare announcements of parades, trade fairs, and cultural shows.
Meric and Mark decide to join the festivities, curious to see what the town has in store. They head toward Plaza Jose, which has been transformed into a hub of food and trade stalls. Vendors sell everything from local delicacies—puto, bibingka, longganisa—to handicrafts, woven baskets, and colorful t-shirts with "Hermosa, New 7 Wonders City" printed boldly.
Mark marvels at a stall selling giant grilled squids. "Mommy, look at that! It's bigger than my head."
Meric laughs. "And more expensive than our lunch budget."
They continue walking, sampling free food and admiring handwoven abaca mats. Yet the joy of the festival dims when they bump into familiar faces—old neighbors and acquaintances.
"Ay, Meric!" one woman greets warmly. "Kumusta ni Mamang mon? (How is your mother?) We haven't seen her in so long."
The words hit Meric like a punch. She pauses, her throat tightening. "Ah... ni Mamang, (Mother) ... she already passed away."
The woman gasps, covering her mouth. "Oh no! I didn't know. I'm so sorry."
Meric nods, forcing a smile, though inside she aches all over again. "It was even announced on the radio. But... yes, many didn't hear."
For the rest of the fair, the encounters repeat—friends and distant relatives asking about Mercy, and Meric having to tell them, again and again, that her mother is gone. Each time, it feels like reopening a wound. Mark holds her hand tightly, sensing her pain.
When October arrives, the Hermosa Cathedral prepares for the grand La Naval Procession, a tradition they had always shared with Mercy. For Meric and Mark, it feels right to continue, even without her.
They climb up Founder's Plaza, finding their usual spot overlooking the cathedral gates. The bells toll as the massive antique carrozzas begin to roll out, each carrying centuries-old images of saints, draped in flowers and shimmering lights.
The crowd cheers, cameras click, and the faithful cross themselves.
Mark leans on the railing, awed. "It's still so grand, Mommy. Just like before."
Meric smiles wistfully. "Mamang have loved this. She always loved watching from here."
They stand together, watching the carrozzas pass by. For a moment, it feels like Mercy is there too, standing beside them, smiling at the beauty of the procession.
At the end of October, Hermosa launches the Raniag Twilight Festival. The town transforms into a glowing wonderland, with floats lit up in vibrant colors and dancers parading through the streets with illuminated costumes.
Meric and Mark join the crowd, their faces glowing in the kaleidoscope of lights. Children squeal in delight, vendors shout about halo-halo and fish balls, and music fills the air.
Mark tugs on her sleeve, pointing. "Look, Mommy! That float has a dragon! And it's breathing smoke!"
Meric laughs, clapping along with the crowd. "Careful, or it might burn your hair."
For the first time in months, she feels a true lightness in her heart. Amid the glow of lanterns, the rhythm of drums, and the laughter of her son, she knows that life, though scarred by loss, still offers moments of beauty.
And perhaps, just perhaps, Mercy and Conching are watching too—through the butterflies, through the dreams, through the traditions they loved so dearly.