thy secret unveiled

Ages and ages past, the Japanese came to conquer our land. They attacked without warning, and by that, we were caught in the net of World War II. Our ancestors formulated their survival tacks. Mine found their only light -- their hide-away.

My childhood play moments were spent, unknowingly, in that perfect spot. I didn't know, for I was too young to be told their story. However, one night, I accidentally heard my older relatives discussing what seemed like a very private matter. I hid while I listened. It's a secret, theirs. Now, mine. Then, ours.

It was a dark day. Bombings were heard all over the place. Smoke gets in the eyes, it stings, it burns, it makes one cry. But despite all this, they were lucky to be still there, though suffering. But then again, the pressure of life itself is pressing on them. If they were that lucky to be still alive, then they should at least preserve what's left of their lives. 
They gathered the little things they have and went to the secret place. Grasses spanned the ground, a swamp swallowed one corner, trees covered the heavens, and in the center of them all was the labyrinth. They carefully walked the length to that safety haven. And there, on that cave, they hid for their dear lives.

How did they survive without getting caught? You might ask. I happened to ask that question, too. The Japanese occupation didn't happen in a blink of an eye, it took years. When I was old enough, I gathered the guts to ask one approachable relative. He told me the details for the devil is always in the details.

It was indeed a magical place. 
A realm where two dimensions meet.
Their survival didn't rely on their doings alone, their survival relied on the rumors of the existence of "others".

The war ended, they went back to their normal lives. That is, if there can still be something normal after what they have gone through. Okay, so let's put it this way, everything went back to normal.

They left that place. It wasn't visited again, nobody had the courage. 

Until..

Me hugging one of the Caimito trees in CAIMITOHAN.

A new generation. Uncaring, unafraid, ignorant. I am part of this new generation. I went to that place and turned it into my playground, though I wasn't permitted to. Adults call it the CAIMITOHAN because of the Caimito trees that grew there. They kept on reminding the young'uns to stay away from the place especially during twilight time. But the restrictions make it all the more exciting.

My parents tried to scare me with tales of monsters living there. For a time, I didn't go there. However, I couldn't deny myself the pleasure for too long. I went back and then back and then back. I was a constant visitor there. Then, I learned this part of the story.

The "others" are the original inhabitants of the place. They happen to share a delinquency: if the "others" were rumored for their presence alone, then my ancestors were rumored to have a connection with them. 

Yes, our bloodline are rumored to be tinged with witchcraft and wizardry.

Those people who are not part of their circle didn't want to go to CAIMITOHAN in fear of the supernaturals.

I realized, "Ah, so that explains the sweet melodious singing during the dusking hours, the cool fragrant wind that brings the notes of glee and melancholy, the splendor of the creatures alight amidst the growing darkness, the things only I have witnessed. My childhood play moments were spent like this -- enchanted.