Disclaimer: Lengthy diatribe. May contain macabre elements. The foregoing picture has no direct correlation with the content below. It merely serves as a metaphor for the “fabric of life” and the strands that inadvertently fell off or were deliberately cut or discarded.
I passed by her home earlier – the place where she was robbed and brutally murdered. There were several people hovering at the small parking space near the entrance while a large flat screen TV played on. The motorcycle sped by so it was hard to see what the commotion was about. I suppose a memorial took place and snippets of her earthly sojourn were displayed.
She had been living there for five months before that tragic incident happened. Her house faces the mountain road going to Upper Busay, right at the mouth of a makeshift pathway that leads to the back portion of our subdivision. I must have passed there hundreds of times (even stopping by a few times to scan the structure when it was still under construction). And I never knew… until she died.