“Thanks, sweetheart.” Mom throws me a grateful look as she gathers our stuff. “Be quick, okay?”
The basket of balut is exactly where Mom says it is—the bench beside the place where we laid Kidlat to rest. Before leaving, I take a flower from the hibiscus shrub we planted between the lab and the mango tree.
I place the flower on Kidlat’s grave. “I miss you, little guy.”
He would have loved our adventure for the day.
My family and friends are waiting, so I hurry back to the boat. Just last year, on this same day, I was saying goodbye to my old home in Marikina. This year, I’m celebrating my twelfth birthday in my new home with my new forever friends.
As my sandaled feet touch the warm seawater, I hear another familiar sound behind me.
WOOF!
A puppy emerges from behind the coconut trees. It has white-and-black markings on its brown fur. The dog bounds down the beach and heads straight for me.
“Bee! Get in the boat now!” Mom shrieks. There’s a huge splash as she jumps off the boat and wades toward me. “Shoo, dog! Don’t hurt my baby.”
“It’s okay, Mom! It’s just a puppy.” I don’t know why, but I just know this dog doesn’t mean me any harm. I bring out a cooked fertilized duck egg from my basket. “Do you want a balut, fur-boy? You’re a boy, aren’t you?”
WOOF! The puppy wags its tail.
But as the dog moves closer, I notice he isn’t a boy after all.
“Oh, it’s a pretty girl,” Mom says, splashing beside me. “Careful, Bee. She might bite you.”
“Okay, girl, here’s a balut.” I walk closer to the shore, holding out the egg in my hand. “Do you like balut?”
The dog wolfs down the balut in seconds. She barks happily, going in circles, just like Kidlat used to do when he was excited.
I crouch low to wash my hands.
“JOLINA!” Mom tries to grab me by the shoulders, but the dog’s faster. She goes straight for my face … and licks my cheek.
“Oh!” I smile, gently pushing her off. I can hear Mom’s loud sigh of relief from behind me. “You’re welcome.”
The dog stares into my eyes. In that moment, I realize what people mean in Mom’s telenovelas when they say that the eyes are the windows to one’s soul. I glimpse into the dog’s soul, and I see someone very, very familiar.
“Mom, I think this dog is—” Water splashes on my face as the dog bounds for our boat. She’s so bouncy, it’s like she has balls on her paws.
“Welcome, you brave good boy,” Lolo Sebyo tells the dog as she jumps into the boat.
“I guess this means we’re getting a new dog,” Mom says. She hands the balut basket to Claudine and guides me through the wooden plank leading up to the boat. Dad helps her get on. “She’s a girl, Papa.”
“I know.” Lolo Sebyo smiles. “Perhaps I should say, ‘Welcome back.’ ”
Marvin frowns. “I don’t get it.”
“I do,” Claudine says, giving my hand a squeeze. I squeeze her hand back.
Lolo Sebyo continues to smile, quietly watching Dad and the crew pull the plank into the boat.
I know what Lolo Sebyo means, but I don’t dare hope. What if we’re both wrong? I don’t want to break my heart all over again.
“I’m calling you Magiting,” I tell the dog. Names have meaning, and this name is perfect for her. “It means ‘courageous,’ you know.”
“He’s cute,” Angelou says.
“Be careful. It might have rabies.” Judy grabs her sister’s hand. “Don’t touch it, Ann. And keep your cat away from it, Claudine. It might attack.”
“This fur-baby won’t hurt Winter,” Claudine assures the girl. She gives me a smile. “Magiting is her friend.”
Sure enough, Winter lets out a loud meow. She jumps off Claudine’s lap and rubs her body against the dog. Magiting gives Winter a kiss.
“I think she’s okay.” Bobby peers closer at the dog. “Her ears are marked. That means she’s been spayed and vaccinated by the government. She’s probably one of the animal shelter dogs who escaped during Typhoon Totoy.”
“Welcome to the family, Magiting,” Dad says. He hands a long bamboo pole to the boatman, who begins pushing the boat away from the shore. “We’ll need to let the shelter know we found her, but I’m sure they’ll let us adopt her officially.”
The boat’s motor starts. It’s so loud, it drowns any conversation in the boat. Isla Pag-Ibig grows smaller and smaller the farther we go.
Mom is leaning on Dad, their eyes fixed on the view of the sea. Lolo Sebyo and all my friends save for Claudine are sound asleep and doing a snoring orchestra.
I look at the dog between Claudine and me.
“It’s him, isn’t it, J-Bee?” Claudine whispers in my ear. “It really is him.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, smiling through my tears. Claudine gives my hand another squeeze.
The puppy moves to my other side, the one nearer to the edge of the boat. She closes her eyes and feels the breeze on her face.
I have my whole life to look forward to now because of this very good, very brave dog.
“You came back for me.” A tear falls down my check as I pat Magiting’s head. “I didn’t think you would, but you did. I love you, Kidlat … or should I say, Magiting.”
Woof!
Do you want to know how to make the yema balls Claudine loves so much? Well, you’re in luck! I’m going to share with you the super-secret recipe of Bagayan Food Haus’s famous yema balls.
Before you begin cooking, be sure to ask an adult to supervise you in the kitchen. I cooked yema balls without my parents or Lolo Sebyo knowing—you’ve seen what happened to me. It’s a recipe for total disaster (pun intended) if you don’t have adult supervision. I’m pretty sure you’re not putting gayuma in your candies, but you never know what bad things might happen. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
Remember: Safety first! Always have an adult supervise when you use the stove or sharp implements.
Ingredients:
4 egg yolks
4 medium-sized calamansi (Philippine lime), each cut in half. If you can’t find calamansi, you can substitute it with 3 tablespoons lemon juice and 1 tablespoon fresh orange juice.
1 300-ml (10 oz.) can condensed milk
2 tablespoons salted butter, plus half a teaspoon for greasing
Granulated white sugar for coating
Candy wrapper of your choice, or food-grade cellophane wrap, cut into 10–20 3-inch squares
Yields: 20–30 yema balls, depending on how big or small you roll them.
Directions:
1. Grease a plate with butter and set aside.
2. Separate the yolks from the egg whites and place them into a bowl. My dad has this cool technique of simply cracking the shell in two and letting the egg white drip into a bowl. But he’s a seasoned cook, so you might want to use an egg separator instead. Or, even better, ask your parent or guardian to do it for you!
3. Squeeze the halved calamansi (or squeeze the lemons and add orange juice) into a small bowl. Make sure that the juice is free of seeds. There’s nothing worse than biting into a stray bitter seed when eating yema balls. It just totally ruins the candy. Take note though—a calamansi may be very small, but it sure packs a punch! It is very tart.
4. Mix the egg yolks, calamansi juice, and can of condensed milk in a nonstick 8-inch pan.
5. Once you’re sure the ingredients are evenly mixed, it’s time to turn on the flame! Remember that adult supervision is required when preparing to use the stove. Cook the mixture over very low heat, stirring constantly.
6. Keep stirring until the mixture starts to thicken. Add the butter.
7. Turn off the heat once the mixture gets to a taffy-like consistency and separates from the pan. Overcooking will give you hard yema balls—and we don’t want that.
8. Using a spatula, transfer the mixture to the plate greased with butter. Let the yema cool down enough for you to handle.
>
9. Scoop your preferred amount of yema and roll the candy into balls. The smaller the ball, the more yema balls you’ll have!
10. Roll the balls in white sugar, then wrap them individually with your candy wrappers.
If you live in a temperate country, the yema balls can last up to 4 weeks at room temperature. But if you live in a tropical country like the Philippines, where it can get really hot, it’s best to store them in the fridge. Refrigerated yema can last up to 7 weeks. Yema balls are such a very tasty sweet treat though, so it’s very possible there won’t be any left to store. Enjoy!
This book was very difficult to write. It was probably one of the hardest—if not the hardest—work I have written to date.
In the past thirty-eight years (that’s a lot of years), I have lost a number of pets. But none of them were as painful as losing my dog, Kubrick, in 2016. He was a smart little guy. So smart, in fact, that he was able to do agility training with me.
This was a big deal. To be successful, a dog and their human partner need to have a special kind of bond—a bond that will let you give commands without speaking them out loud. Like, your dog will know what to do by looking at and feeling you. Just like Kidlat knowing what Jolina is thinking and feeling without them speaking the same language.
Kubrick and I had that kind of bond. Then he got sick, and I lost him.
I couldn’t really bring myself to commemorate him until now, with this book. It took me a long time to muster the courage to write about him and to confront my feelings. And that’s totally okay.
If you’ve lost a pet, like Jolina and me, there are times when it may seem as if you’re alone in your grief—like people just don’t understand.
I get you. Losing a pet is one of the hardest things a human has to go through.
Take all the time you need to process your feelings. Remember: Somewhere out there, your pet is watching over you.
Real-life Sagip Stories
Sagip is a common belief in the Philippines. It literally translates to “save” and happens when an animal—most often a beloved pet—sacrifices their life to save a person from illness or bad luck. The logical part of me thinks that Sagip is our way of making sense of a pet’s death. But a part of me believes it’s real.
In her opinion editorial, “Saved by the Dog,” Alya B. Honasan talks about being saved by Larry, her twelve-year-old black Labrador retriever, from a heart ailment.1 She was at risk of cardiomyopathy when Larry got sick suddenly. Larry pulled through, but Alya was shocked at the vet’s findings: Larry had cardiomyopathy.
A similar thing had happened to my friend Aileen Apolo-de Jesus. Her beloved dog, Jolly, passed away at the same time that Aileen had heart surgery.
My dog Kubrick saved me so many times. Once, I had a really bad flu. My illness suddenly disappeared right before I went to the doctor. That same day, Kubrick got a fever out of the blue. The vet couldn’t find anything wrong with him. Like in Alya’s story about Larry, our vet asked if anyone was sick in our family. I said that I had been. She smiled and told me I was lucky to have a loyal dog like Kubrick.
Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe I was only imagining things. But I will always believe my loyal dog saved me from something horrible when he passed away. It was just something he would do.
Like Jolina says in the story, everyday miracles are a form of magic. Kubrick was my miracle, and so is every pet we have in our lives.
A Culture of Respecting Elders
Aside from believing in miracles, treating elders with respect is also very important to Filipinos. The “mano” gesture that Jolina makes is a greeting and a way to request blessing from someone older. She also uses “po” and “opo” frequently when talking to her elders. These words of respect are distinctly Filipino and don’t have a direct translation in English, but they add formality and respect.
Bullying and Getting Bullied
Respecting our elders doesn’t mean we can’t talk to them openly. If you or someone you know is being bullied, it’s very important that you tell an adult you trust about it. Everyone has the right to feel safe from bullying—and that includes you. You shouldn’t have to go through it alone. Ask for help as soon as you can.
On Being “Poor”
When I was in middle school, I never felt like I totally fit in. You see, my family was of a lower-middle income class; our family’s combined monthly income fell between ₱23,381 to ₱46,761.2 Using today’s exchange rate, that would be about US $465.20 to US $930.38 per month for our then-family of four.3 But I studied at a private school where most of my classmates were well-off. My parents worked really hard to put me through school, but when it got really tough, my grandmother helped us.
Some of my meaner classmates made it perfectly clear to me that I didn’t belong. This made me feel ashamed. I made excuses for why I couldn’t join certain field trips. I removed the labels from my clothes so they wouldn’t see that my family could only afford cheap brands. I lied about having a designer dress when it was really my creative mom who had made it.
Then I met people who became my closest friends. They didn’t care that I was poor. They stood by me, and I learned to hold my head high.
Not everyone will be born with privilege. You shouldn’t let your circumstances define you. Rich or poor, you’re you. Be proud of who you are.
Pag-Ibig Island
Let me spare you the trouble of trying to find Pag-Ibig Island: It doesn’t exist. But it was based on places I’ve visited outside Metro Manila in the Philippines. Most of Pag-Ibig Island’s geography was inspired by the charming town of Bulusan in Bicol.
1. Alya B. Honasan, “Saved by the Dog,” Lifestyle.INQ, Philippines, Philippine Daily Inquirer, 31 October 2013, page 1, lifestyle.inquirer.net/134055/saved-by-the-dog/, (accessed 7 June 2020).
2. Sandra Zialcita, “EXPLAINER: Who Are the Filipino Middle Class?” CNN Philippines, Philippines, Nine Media Corp., 25 April 2020, page 1, cnnphilippines.com/news/2020/4/25/explainer-who-are-the-Filipino-middle-class.html, (accessed 7 June 2020).
3. Bloomberg, US Dollar - Philippine Peso Exchange Rate [website], bloomberg.com/quote/USDPHP:CUR, (accessed 16 June 2020).
How do you say “thank you” multiple times without saying the same thing over and over again? It’s a challenge that’s worth every single word and character—this book wouldn’t be a book without the wonderful people who helped me make it happen.
First off, many thanks to justwanderingtours.com for giving me and my husband the best Bulusan experience. Our stay in the province was so memorable, I decided to base my fictional island on it. Thank you for your hospitality and spectacular service.
My deepest thanks to my champion and agent, Alyssa Eisner Henkin. Thank you for always believing in me and my work. Sometimes I still find it hard to believe that I’m on my second book already, but here we are! Without you, none of this would have been possible.
I’m eternally grateful to my editor, Emily Seife, who continuously makes me a better writer. Your editorial touch is truly magical. I didn’t even need to use a potion to turn my ugly first draft into a decent, publishable manuscript!
To my Scholastic family—thank you for bringing Jolina’s story out in the world. Special thanks to Orlando Dos Reis for adopting me (it was so great working with you even for a short time). To production editor Josh Berlowitz, for once again taking good care of my words. To Abigail L. Dela Cruz, for the gorgeous cover I can’t stop gushing about! To Baily Crawford, for the beautiful book design, as usual. To Danielle Yadao and Lizette Serrano, for marketing my books so tirelessly and for giving me authorly opportunities that I never thought I’d have.
To my regional Scholastic team in Asia and the Philippines— you have my utmost gratitude. Nurhannis Hisham, Joyce Bautista, Van Patricia B. Ravinera-Abrogena, and Melissa Socorro, thank you for making sure Filipino kids get to read my stories.
My sincere thanks to Kate Heceta, Cara Sobrepeña, and Shealea Iral for your hard work in advoc
ating for marginalized authors. I will forever be grateful for your support and help in getting the word out about my books. You three are the absolute rock stars of book blogging!
So much thanks to Daka Hermon, Hanna Alkaf, Remy Lai, and Elsie Chapman—you make the solo art of writing less lonely. Same goes for my Philippine squad—Rin Chupeco, Tarie Sabido, Hazel Ureta, and Kara Bodegon. Thank you for your friendship and solidarity.
To Isabelle Adrid and Rae Somer—I’d be lost without you two. Thanks for sticking with me.
I’m so grateful for my parents, August and Jocelyn, and my younger sister, Joyce. Not everyone can say they have family as supportive and caring as you. But I can, and I’ll always be thankful for that.
To my husband and my best friend, Marc—thank you for being my constant. I will never stop thanking God for having you in my life. I love you, forever and always.
Gail D. Villanueva is a Filipino author born and based in the Philippines. My Fate According to the Butterfly, her debut novel, was a 2019 Kirkus Best Book of the Year and an NCSS-CBC Notable Social Studies Trade Book for Young People. She’s also a web designer, an entrepreneur, and a graphic artist. She loves pineapple pizza, seafood, and chocolate, but not in a single dish together (ewww). Gail and her husband live in the outskirts of Manila with their dogs, ducks, turtles, cats, and one friendly but lonesome chicken. Learn more at gaildvillanueva.com.
Turn the page to read an excerpt from Gail D. Villanueva’s debut novel, My Fate According to the Butterfly!
SUNDAY
IF YOU SEE THE BUTTERFLY, somebody you know will die.
Or has already died. My dad wasn’t clear. He just said if the Butterfly lands on something of yours, you should expect Death to come knocking at your door.
“Butterflies again?”
That’s my ate, my big sister, Nadine. She doesn’t believe in the Butterfly.
Well, Ate Nadine doesn’t believe anything Dad says.
Sugar and Spite Page 13
