I was all happy and ecstatic when we finally decided to live on our own apart from my in-laws. Even the impending birth of a second baby didn’t stop us. Armed with determination and a tummy that was the only thing larger than my resolve, I moved heaven and earth to get us an apartment. The tummy helped a lot because everyone seemed all too eager to help me get around. It’s been seven months and I wish I can say we made the best decision.
Like most Filipino communities, we live in one where people are always friendly and helpful. There are just some nights though when scenes jump right out of a vampire book and I’d wish I read Twilight. That would have been bearable punishment compared to the cold, clammy sweat I bathe in every time the friendly neighbors start drinking, bickering, breaking bottles and destroying private property.
I used to live in a place where the neighbors sometimes mutated at twilight too but I had nothing to worry about. They all still seemed to recognize me in their hairy, fanged conditions. That’s thanks to the many long years of friendship forged by countless beer bottles that my own pet werewolf (my husband) has had with them.
Without familiar faces, I find myself losing more and more sleep watching over my human children. I’d probably sleep better if I had a silver stake beside me but all I have is a short wooden stick that probably can’t even hurt a cat.
A friend once asked me, “So what do you prefer, living in a place not your own but where you’re good friends with the drunkards or in a place of your own but where the drunkards are strangers?”