Day 8: The Weight of Grief

Dear Diary,

Today, my tears were unceasing. The devastation around me felt like an unending nightmare, one that I couldn't escape no matter how hard I tried. As the sun rose, casting its light over the charred remains of our once vibrant village, the reality of my situation settled heavily on my shoulders.

I spent the morning sobbing, my body wracked with the kind of sorrow that leaves you breathless. My heart felt as if it had been ripped apart and trampled on. I had lost everything—my family, my friends, my home. The grief was overwhelming, and for hours, I could do nothing but cry, the sound of my own despair echoing through the empty, silent streets of Tañong Bayan.

Eventually, a sense of purpose began to form amidst the chaos of my emotions. I couldn't let my loved ones lie where they had fallen, amidst the ashes and ruin. They deserved more than that. They deserved dignity, respect, and a proper farewell. 

I started with my family, my beloved Mama, Papa, and brothers. Their bodies lay in what remained of our home, their faces peaceful despite the horror that had befallen us. I knelt beside them, my tears mingling with the dust, and whispered my final goodbyes.

"Mama," I said, my voice trembling, "thank you for everything. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to protect you." I gently brushed her hair back, remembering how she'd do the same for me when I was little.

"Papa," I continued, my hands shaking as I touched his calloused fingers, "I'll make sure you're all together. I promise." The memory of him working in the fields, his strong hands guiding mine, flashed through my mind, and I broke down again.

My brothers, their young faces so full of life and potential, lay side by side. "Toto," I whispered, clutching his hand, "you were so brave. I love you." And to my older brothers, I choked out, "You protected us always. I'll never forget that."

It took all my strength to carry them outside, one by one, to a shaded spot beneath the old mango tree where we had shared so many happy moments. With what tools I could find amidst the rubble, I began to dig, my muscles screaming in protest, but my heart providing the resolve I needed to keep going.

By midday, the heat was unbearable, but I couldn't stop. The ground was hard and unforgiving, but I pushed through, creating graves that would honor their memories. As I dug, the village around me remained eerily silent, the only sounds being my labored breaths and the occasional rustle of the leaves in the wind.

When I finally finished digging, I gently laid my family to rest. Covering them with earth felt like an unbearable finality, but I knew it was necessary. I marked their graves with stones, arranging them in a way that would remind me of who lay beneath, and said a prayer for their souls.

The day stretched on, each moment a struggle against the weight of my grief. I moved through the village, finding and gathering the bodies of neighbors and friends, each discovery a fresh wound to my heart. I tried to remember the good times, the laughter and the love we all shared, but the pain of their loss overshadowed everything.

As the afternoon turned to evening, I stumbled upon Uncle Felipe's body. He was lying near the remnants of our home, his face turned towards the sky as if seeking solace in the stars. I fell to my knees beside him, my sobs breaking the silence once more.

"Oh, Uncle Felipe," I cried, clutching his lifeless hand, "why did this have to happen? Why did they take you from me?" His stories and laughter had always been a source of joy and inspiration, and now that light had been extinguished.

As I gathered his belongings, my hands fell upon a strange, glowing stone. I remembered Uncle Felipe talking about it during one of our dinners, his eyes shining with excitement. "This is a mana stone," he had explained. "It's incredibly valuable, containing stored mana that can be used in countless ways. Only those who can afford it possess such a treasure."

The stone was warm to the touch, its glow pulsing gently. As I held it, the light dimmed and I felt a surge of warmth flow through my body, momentarily lifting the heavy weight of my sorrow. I didn't fully understand what had happened, but I knew I had to set it aside for now. There was still work to be done.

I carefully placed the stone in my pocket and resumed collecting bodies. As night fell, I dug more graves, my hands raw and blistered, but my resolve unwavering. The moon rose high, casting a silver glow over the village, making the devastation appear almost otherworldly.

Finally, as the last body was laid to rest, I collapsed on the ground, exhaustion overtaking me. The air was cool, and the stars above seemed to offer a semblance of peace. I closed my eyes, my heart heavy with grief, but also with a glimmer of hope. 

As I drifted off to sleep amidst the ruins, the mana stone's warmth pulsed gently in my pocket, a silent promise of something more, something that might help me make sense of this tragedy and find a way forward.

Until tomorrow, Diary.

Lia