The Girl Between Two Worlds

by Kristyn Maslog-Levis

  I met Mark a couple of weeks after we moved to Rose Garden. I was still very new to the country and didn’t have any friends. He didn’t seem to be the type who talked to random people, but something must have compelled him to open his mouth. I was in the library, holding a copy of a very old Nancy Drew novel. There were other books piled on the floor. We sat on the floor in silence, going through book after book. We compared our own collections and criticized each other’s favorites. We did not even realize the library was already closing.

  After that, we hung out a lot more, reading books, buying books, reviewing new ones that came out. Alyssa joined our group shortly after, and although she wasn’t into books as much as Mark and I, she ended up being a good part of our trio.

  I first met Alyssa on my way home from school. She was trying to get gum off of her long blonde hair with no luck. I could see she was close to tears so I went up to her to help, but I was too late. She had already managed to spread the gum so that it had become a huge clump of monstrous tangled hair.

  I offered to help her. We walked to my place from school without talking. I didn’t really know what to say to her and she was still obviously distressed about the gum-in-the-hair situation. When we got home, Mama looked at the mess and made us a cup of rich hot chocolate. Mama brought out her bag of hairstyling tools and started working on Alyssa’s hair. She talked to Alyssa about little things and cracked a joke or two that made us laugh.

  Finally, Mama finished cutting Alyssa’s hair. When Alyssa saw the pile of hair on the floor, her eyes widened and she looked like she was about to cry again. But before she could open her mouth, Mama handed her the mirror. Alyssa smiled when she saw her reflection.

  Mama may not be good at a lot of things, but she had great skill in hairstyling. Alyssa’s long hair had been replaced with a very fancy-looking bob that framed her face perfectly, though in reality, she’d still look great even with a shaved head.

  Of course, that was three years ago and the dynamics had changed a bit. Alyssa was currently the most popular girl in school but she never became snobby. I’d like to think I had something to do with that.

  “Okay, so what’s going on? It’s Sunday morning. We are supposed to be sleeping in,” Mark’s comment brought me back to my predicament.

  “I have no idea. She wouldn’t tell me anything until we got here.”

  “Move,” I grabbed the pillow Mark was using to cover his head. He was still desperately hoping to get more sleep. His room was small but very tidy, much tidier than mine, in fact. His bed was pushed to one corner to make room for a giant desk covered with computers, cables, and various contraptions he’d been working on. His extensive book collection was neatly stacked in a makeshift bookcase that covered one of the walls from floor to ceiling. I helped him build it one afternoon, and by help, I meant I handed him the nails.

  After Mark’s dad died, his mom had to juggle several jobs to keep things afloat. Mark had three part-time jobs to help her out. At night, he moonlighted as a cheap “web designer.” I knew he did other computer things, some not so legal, but I didn’t meddle in his business. I knew how much they needed the money.

  “I want to show you guys something I did this morning. You’re not going to believe it.” I pulled out the bouquet from the bag and placed it on the bed.

  “Your birthday bouquet? We saw that yesterday,” Mark said.

  “Yes, you did but you didn’t see this,” I said, pulling out a yellow rose from the bunch. I placed it on the bed where we could all see it, then I touched one of the brown petals.

  “What are we supposed to …” Mark started to say but I immediately shushed him.

  I closed my eyes and touched the flower again. Everyone was silent for several minutes, staring at my hand on the petal. Just as Mark started to speak again, the flower began to change. The wilting petal turned from brown to bright yellow, then the rest of the flower followed suit. The other petals were restored to a bright yellow, and the stem’s color turned green. A quiet gasp escaped from both Mark and Alyssa as the leaves and thorns that had been removed from the stem started to grow back. I pulled my hand away, surprised at the transformation.

  “Wow!” I looked at Alyssa, her mouth hanging open. I stared at the flower, just as perplexed as they were.

  “How did you…?” Alyssa asked.

  “I don’t know. I woke up this morning and it seemed like nothing had changed, but when I touched one of the flowers, it just happened.”

  “This is scientifically impossible,” Mark said, scratching his head, turning the flower in his hand.

  “I pictured what I wanted to happen in my head and just kind of felt it. When I touched the flower, that’s what happened. I am scared and I can’t talk to my dad.”

  “Why not?” Alyssa asked.

  “Someone called me this morning. I got a call from my grandfather. You know, the one who was supposed to be dead?”

  “Holy crap! Seriously? Fantastic! You should document this and investigate it. A real paranormal activity. How amazing is that?!” Mark sat up on the bed, fully awake, absolutely excited by the news.

  “He’s not really dead, you dufus. Mama lied to me.” Even before the words escaped my mouth, I regretted saying it. Mama was not one to lie, but it seemed that she had kept a giant secret from us for a very long time.

  “Why is it that the really cool things only happen to other people and not to me?” Mark ducked as Alyssa tried to hit his head with a pillow.

  “He said he’ll see me very soon. I’m scared but also curious. What if he knows where Mama is? Mama was never comfortable talking about her past. She always gave me vague answers.”

  “If your grandfather knows anything, I don’t think he has any choice but to tell you the truth after what you just did. This is not an ordinary thing to keep from you,” Alyssa said.

  “Will you show your dad this new magic trick?” Mark asked.

  “I’m not sure. I think I need to find answers first before showing him. Will you guys come with me?”

  “Sure. It’s not like we have anything bigger to attend to today anyway.”

  We walked to my house and the two of them walked in like it was their own home. I stood there for a moment, watching them. It had been over a year since we decided to move out of the house we shared with Mama. It became too much for us to wake up in that house, wondering every day if she might be back in the kitchen making us breakfast.

  In the end, Dad decided to rent it out while we moved to a smaller place just a couple of blocks away. Every now and then, when I was deep in thought, I’d find myself walking home from school to the old house, like my feet had a mind of their own. I think a part of me was hoping that Mama would be waiting there, wondering why strangers were living in her house.

  I remember the first time we moved in that house. Mama was glowing. She was as bouncy as a little girl in Disneyland. There were a lot of boxes to unpack but she loved unpacking them. She loved settling in the house, decorating it and turning it into a home. She loved the promise of a fresh start. She pulled me close one day to tell me something.

  “We are very lucky to have this place, but you must never forget where you came from,” she told me. “You must always remember that there are others who don’t have what we have. Be thankful for the blessings you have now.”

  A tear ran down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away before anyone saw it.

  Chapter Four

  San Francisco Tribune, August 2012

  Still No Clue on Missing Migrant

  The police are continuing their search for Marie Harris, the Filipino migrant who disappeared from her home in May shortly after arriving in the country.

  After three months of investigation, authorities have not found any new evidence to explain the disappearance of Harris. Her husband was cleared of any wrongdoing after authorities failed to secure evidence against him.

  The case is gaining interest from various immigration bodies asking for a more thoro
ugh assessment of migrants given a visa to live in America.

  “This is a clear case of failure on the part of the immigration department. There is very little support for migrants after entering the country. We don’t know what these people are going through psychologically and emotionally,” says Susan Boyd from the Fil-Am Migrants Association.

  The Philippine government has also urged American authorities to continue their search for Harris. The case has gained interest in Harris’s home country where politicians are now calling for changes in legislation related to citizens migrating overseas, as well as for overseas workers.

  June 2015

  M ama used to say the stars had to align just the right way to create me—like the stars somehow had something to do with my conception. It was a good fantasy. It made me feel extra special, and not mind that I looked different from other Filipinos. I was referred to as mestiza, a term coined during the Spanish era and used specifically for people of Filipino and Caucasian racial mix.

  Being different from everyone else elicited a lot of gawking from people. I wanted to be alone so much, to find a place where no one could watch me. Everything changed after I found the public library—a quiet old building rarely used by people. It was there that I read my first non-children’s Filipino folklore tales.

  More and more I explored the library, borrowing books by the bulk and reading as much as I could. I found myself getting pulled into the fantasy genre when I was ten years old. I became fascinated with stories about mythical creatures like the engkanto—said to be beautiful creations living in a mystical kingdom that couldn’t be seen by humans. Many of the stories said that once a human was invited into their kingdom, he could never get out. Sometimes, I fantasized about being invited to this magical kingdom. I would stare outside my window for a long time, pretending to see little men living under a tree, or a fairy floating around a new bloom.

  The first and only time I mentioned this to Mama was when I took one of my favorite books about the Engkanto kingdom with me to bed, expecting her to read it to me. But when she saw it, she went pale and told me not to waste my efforts on reading about such fictional kingdoms and creatures. She didn’t seem angry with me. It was more like she saw a ghost.

  Mama had always been reasonable with me, so when she asked this one favor, I agreed. But weeks later, I couldn’t help myself. Something compelled me to go to that section of the library, so instead of taking these books home, I went somewhere else where Mama wouldn’t see me reading them.

  That was why I was quite surprised when I found an old book stashed behind the wardrobe after Mama disappeared. Had we not moved houses, I wouldn’t have found it. It was an old children’s book naming all the creatures of Filipino mythology. The only difference was that this one was heavily edited in Mama’s handwriting. She took out sentences that described the creatures and wrote the descriptions herself. It was like she was creating a new folklore or correcting the one commonly known to Filipinos.

  Not just that, she also added details to the simple drawings of the book. There were claws, fangs, and fur in places that the book didn’t have. Sometimes the drawings were totally crossed out that you couldn’t see it. And in the margins were very detailed charcoal pencil drawings of the monsters. I never told Dad about the book. I hid it in my room. Every now and then, I would pick it up and touch Mama’s handwriting, like it would bring her back to me.

  I dreaded the thought of facing Dad and asking him about Lolo. If he didn’t know about my grandfather, too, he’d feel just as betrayed, and I didn’t want to add more pain to my dad’s pile of sorrows.

  We sat in the living room, quietly waiting for one of us to make the first move. I stood up to find Dad when I heard a knock on the door. My heart beat a bit faster. No one visited us aside from Mark and Alyssa, and they never knocked. I opened the door and gasped. Standing in front of me was an old man who was the splitting image of Mama.

  “Good morning, Karina. I am your grandfather, Lolo Magatu,” the man said, extending a tanned hand. His grip was firm but reassuring, and a feeling of calm unexpectedly washed over me. I had learned about stranger danger my whole life, more so after Mama disappeared. But there was a familiarity with this man I could not describe, like we had known each other for a long time.

  “Lolo?” I said, the words foreign on my lips.

  “Yes, mija, I am your Lolo.”

  Mija, he called me by the pet name that Mama has for me.

  He continued, “My apologies for giving you a fright this morning but I think it’s time you know about your mother’s real life.”

  I could feel the tension rising in the room. No one moved, afraid to break the silence.

  “I know this is a shock for you but it is extremely necessary that you find out. I know your power has already revealed itself this morning. You need to be able to control your abilities, and fast.”

  My mind was a jumble of thoughts and questions. It was difficult for me to come up with a reply. When I heard Dad come in the living room, my heart raced even faster.

  “Hey, I thought you were out …” Dad stopped when he saw Lolo. I knew he could see the uncanny resemblance to Mama, like they were cast from the same mold.

  “You’re Marie’s father,” he said, walking toward us. Lolo nodded and extended his hand. “But how …”

  “And you must be Patrick. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Dad gestured for Lolo to come in, unable to say anything else. Mark and Alyssa made room for everyone in the living room. They have been so quiet, I almost forgot they were there.

  “I’m sorry to tell you this,” Dad said, trying to steady his voice, “but Marie has been missing for several years now and we don’t know where she is.”

  Lolo only nodded to Dad, not surprised at all by the revelation. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Dad said. Lolo turned to me, looking at my hands clenching and unclenching.

  “Your mother only ever wanted for you to have a normal life. But I knew that was never going to be possible. I need you to know that she did everything she could to delay this. But all this is inevitable.”

  “What is inevitable? What are you talking about? Karina, what’s going on?” Dad said, his voice rising.

  “Should your friends be here for this?” Lolo said, ignoring Dad’s questions.

  “I trust them, and they already know about what I can do. I’d rather have them here.”

  “Then you better sit down, all of you. I am Hari Magatu,” he said to Mark and Alyssa.

  “Harry?” Mark whispered to Alyssa. Lolo looked at him and I swear I could see Mark shrivel up.

  “Hari is Filipino for King,” I said to Mark. “Hold on. King? Like royalty? How can you be royalty?” I tried to calm myself so I could hear what he had to say over the rapid beating of my heart.

  “Your mother ran away from home when she was sixteen. She is the princess of our world.”

  “World?”

  “My world is called Engkantasia and I am the king. We are not humans, but we look like humans. Your mother was raised to be the next ruler of Engkantasia, but she did not want the responsibility, so she ran away.”

  I looked at the family photo near Lolo. It was taken the day before we moved to San Jose. We were all smiles, excited about the new life we were going to live. It seemed so long ago that sometimes I think it never really happened.

  “Isn’t that like in your old books, Karina?” Mark asked.

  “Yes, the engkanto. Engkantasia. They’re just stories from books. Like deities of the forest that play tricks on humans. Just children’s stories,” I replied, my voice breaking a bit.

  “Our world is surrounded by areas with heavy rainforests. It is invisible to humans, but we have the ability to see the human world. When your Mama ran away, she lived in heavily populated areas, far from any traces of the rainforest. Have you noticed that she never wanted to go camping, or spend holidays in the mountain
s?”

  I remembered how Mama insisted we go somewhere else when I said I wanted to see the rice terraces of Banaue before we migrated. I never really understood her desire to stay in the city all the time.

  “I’m sorry but this is all too much to take in. If you were me, you wouldn’t believe any of this. It’s crazy …”

  But before I finished my sentence, Lolo held up his arm. Instead of a hand, I saw green vines with flowers surrounded by a light yellow glow. He placed his arm on the coffee table and leaves and various plants I had never seen before sprouted from it. I heard a collective gasp and I realized I had been holding my breath. He spoke again, unperturbed by our reactions, like what he was doing was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Your mother never expected to have a family. She feared for you. She knew you would become our world’s ruler one day, and she didn’t want that life for you.”

  “Ruler?” I searched his face, still reeling from the vision in front of me. “What do you mean ruler? Am I supposed to live in Engkantasia?”

  Lolo hesitated. The vines, leaves and flowers slithered back into his arm, changing our surroundings back into a normal living room.

  “Our world is in danger. After your mother ran away, there was a battle for the throne. She was supposed to rule the land when I passed on, but …” Lolo paused, staring at the family photo. “We managed to stop the threat but it’s gotten stronger over the years. When I found out about Marie’s disappearance from your world, I sent out my best soldiers to find her.”

  “And?” Dad said, hanging on to Lolo’s every word. Lolo shook his head and let out a deep sigh.