Every girl has a story.
...There was no use complaining about life hiding under the cover a mango tree in the torrential downpour. Although I felt bitter and even spiteful sometimes, questioning God for making my family miserable when we were good, honest people while the corrupt politicians and the drug lords rolled in piles of money. I had resigned myself to my fate. I had no choice but to live the life I was given to its fullest, even though it wasn’t the life I had dreamed of.
At least, I could still daydream, imagining myself living in a large house made of concrete with glass windows and carpeted floors, with soft mattresses on real beds in bedrooms instead of coarse mats, with a shower and of course, with a television, maybe two. I imagined myself having my own business, a boutique perhaps, and traveling to places I had learned of in school, riding an airplane and…oh my lord I want to go one an airplane.
I stopped as I realized there were men approaching, three of them, talking and laughing together. One of them I recognized as Rick, the son of Ramon, who lived not far from us. The other two I had never seen before, though they seemed like Rick’s friends. They looked just as old as him, too – although one of them, the one with the backpack, was much taller. The other guy had the fairest skin of the three and he was wearing earphones. All three of them walked in the rain as if they didn’t care about it at all, the water trickling down their skin and drenching their shirts.
"Well, well, look who’s here,” Rick said as they reached the tree.
I would have said ‘hi’ but as I saw the look on Rick’s face, I froze, a lump forming in my throat. He was drunk and his eyes bloodshot.
The stories of the things Rick and boys did when they were drunk, none of them good to girls.
I’m in so much trouble!...
This is how just one moment in life can change everything for a girl here in the Philippines and the love and understanding Carina finds in the forbidden arms of her best friend.