When the sun begins to set, I would go to the rooftop to rest.
Slowly I tread on the nailed parts, careful not to make a the roof clank or me fall down. I have painted the peak with a white ink and it stayed on the metal for years already—I was there and that vandalism would persist as long as our house remains.
The ripped banig or mat lay accustomed to the rusty roof. I put my backpack down and organize my stuff on the sloping roof, still careful not to make it slid down.
I brought a liter of water on a sports bottle, junkfoods, a keypad phone, a digicam, a netbook, and a earphones. I'd rest while listening to my MP3 songs, I had a bad taste back then—or I was just late in discovering new songs.
The sky was blue, few clouds pass by, some are on the horizon where the tall trees covered what was beyond.
I had no big plans, just to rest with the peacefulness of the rooftop. The sun's rays would fade, from golden to none. The air gets colder every minute and the sky bedazzles in many hues.
The eastern sky where the mountain stood tall for millenia, fades colors of grayish blue. The zenith turns from blue to purples. Then, the western sky glows in fires of yellows, oranges, and reds.
Insects danced in the skies, dragonflies and other winged insects beat their wings fast with the breeze. The birds fly home with a V-formation, flying in groups adter groups, until one or two goes home late. Bats scream as they wait for the night.
I was there when the night lulled the sun to sleep. Stars begins to flicker one by one, I count one, two, three...twenty, twenty one, until I was tired to count the hundred stars that flickers altogether with the dusk comes into an end.
The evening came and the air got colder. I pack my stuff into my bag and fold the mat. I tread on the roof while in darkness. Tracing along the familiar path of umbrella nails tucked on the galvanized iron sheets, knowing that below it are wood frames, strong enough to carry my weight.
I hop into the branches of the Tambis tree, holding tightly to not fall down while being careful not to be bitten by black ants.
The tree was covered in moss, on rainy days it would be slimy and becomes dangerous, but on normal days it eased the grasps and lessened the scratches when climbing down.
I would run to my room and hide my picnic mat on my cabinet. It was a beautiful day, I had a luxury to be alone with the stars at night.
Sometimes, I don't know why my old self went to places like this one—alone.
