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Saturday, March 12, 2011

Creepy Yaya

I’ll tell you this story I have. If most makes fun of yaya, my story is different.

I grew up with a family of conservative type. I grew up wearing pyjamas at night, praying before meals and having a 2X3 hairstyle. Prior to our migration to Manila, my family resides at a town far from the barrio center. It will take us almost an hour and a half jeepney drive to get us to the barrio. Hence, due to accessibility, my yaya whom we called “Nana Bambay” had learned hair cutting and became our resident Barbero. She cut our hair exactly every two weeks to keep me and my brother’s hair short. To make us look neat and notable as what my strict Mom intend us to become at school.

From left-to-right: Lolo Fred, My Mom, Great Grand Lolo Prosing, Nana Bambay (Yaya)

This yaya of mine practices similar routine a regular barbero does. Like prior to cutting, she wraps this “Good Morning” towel around my neck. After the cut, she then brushes off the fallen hair with a powder. Then, ended patting my head down with green colored liquid, that I find the smell nice and addicting. She had proven herself good and better than the male barbero who had cut my hair before. This had become a custom.

My brother moved to Manila; and alongside another heartbreak occurred causing my Mom and Dad to get separated. I saw my Mom rushing, with a scissor on her hand. Mom pitched the scissor like bowing an arrow, the core target is my Dad. The scissors did not reach in full length as my Mom got distracted of my yaya screaming all her heart out, NO!!! The scissors got covered by blood of an innocent chicken flying off her way to escape the screaming. I dashed and pulled out the scissors off the poor chicken. My yaya took it from me, she was shaking and I was nervous. I haven’t slept peacefully that night. The chicken’s hatchlings are all chirping the entire night seeking for their mom’s comfort. I do need it as well, I can speak about the same feeling they are feeling. The feeling of losing somebody.

Mom and I stayed in the house with our yaya. From that day on, we lived a quiet life unparalleled to what we used to have before. The tradition of cutting my hair remains still. My yaya had been sweet as ever that in some ways I felt she is filling in the love I am longing that I felt somehow my Mom is lacking. My Mom seldom smile since that tragic moment.

My yaya cut my hair again, that time I was 16 and graduating. Yaya is already on her mid-60s. I noticed the scissors are now rusty. She garbed the handle with white cloth that is already yellowish with red stain in it. It might have been done to prevent hurting her bony hardworking hands. Cutting my hair with it creates a tingling feeling and it is becoming unbearable already. I asked her to stop, my hair is almost done. Upon leaving, I look back to say goodbye and received nothing but a blank stare. Was she mad? I didn't care. I left to go to the barrio to find a substitute. 

A week after, after Mom and I came back from my commencement exercise; my motherly yaya – Nana Bambay, we found  her unconscious, and not breathing.  We found a scissors couple of inches afar from her hand, where she is lying. Her mouth was foaming it seems like she had been poisoned. The first thing I did upon seeing her is to search her room to grab her medicine.  She has history of epilepsy.

What surprises me is the bucket of hair strands scattered all over her room. On the floor, on her pillows and sticking up the ceiling. I opened her bible, a bunch of hair tied with strings was there. I was crying all the while then I got goose bumps. I phoned our relatives to seek some help, rushed in the toilet to wash my face and to slot in a deep breath. I flushed the basin. Countless hair strands appears as it was stopping the water from draining down the drain.

A week after yaya’s interment, mom was looking for her replacement. The house has been quiet as before, the only difference is the quietness gives me the creeps which I haven’t previously felt. The debut was two weeks after yaya’s death. I smell the smell of this green liquid fuming around our dining area where my yaya used to cut my hair in front of this tall mirror. This occurs recurrently every two weeks - exactly the same time yaya schedule to cut my hair. At night, sleeping time, a chirping scissors sound sometimes blows to my ear which I keep on trying to believe that it was just the hatchling outside chirping, begging for food. I also got paranoid of flushing the toilet imagining that hairs will flow instead of water. Was this a continuance of her service to us? I can’t thank her more than enough.

I and my mom had decided to move to Manila for a new beginning. When we got in to Manila to my brother’s house, we bought a cat and named her after yaya. We called her Bombay. This cat has excessive hairfall, is that normal? Or it has something to do with this ghost story I made up. Hmm. I can see the connection. Lol.

This is the actual photo of my Mom and our actual Yaya (we treat her as part of the family, we don't call her yaya. She looks creepy noh?)

Mama & Yaya

Oops. Sorry Mama. I used you as the yaya in my made-up story again. The girl in the first photo, the one in the right-most,  is actually my Mom on her twenties not Nana Bambay of this story. The little girl is my cousin and ninang as well.




jedi_randy said...

Creepy story, gave me the chills, hehe!

kamil said...

i can feel this story is somehow real with just few details changes.. creepy :)

Jack said...

Jedi_randy - thanks for the visit

Jack said...

kamil - haha. i will be writing more made-up stories from now cause you know, my life aint that sparkling

fhranz said...

nice one hehe.=)

Jack said...

Fhranz - meheheh

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